Coffee For the Edge Of Evening
by luckyricochet
Summary: Modern AU. Enjolras is a law student at one of the top universities in Paris and leader of one of the busiest clubs on campus. Eponine works long hours in a small bookstore to provide for her emotionally-distant and withdrawn siblings at home. Neither has the luxury, or the desire, for a relationship. But they can only notice each other so many time before they start to wonder.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First off, I must be clear: I am not the one who came up with the plot for this fic. I saw a post from _electrum-whip_ on Tumblr (can't post links), and I don't take any credit for it. And also, for the record, I DID ASK HER IF I COULD WRITE THIS. I made sure that it was all right if I wrote something about it, and I DID get permission, so don't get on my case for that.  
**

**That being said, I've been wanting to write this for a while now, and here it finally is. My Enjolras and Éponine are in the form of Aaron Tveit and Samantha Barks because I absolutely loved the Les Mis film. Updates will probably be sporadic because school has to take priority, but I'm still going to be writing.**

**So this chapter is kinda just an introduction of sorts, just giving a brief overview of what our two characters' situations are. **

* * *

Café Musain was located on the Place Saint-Michel. It occupied a moderate part of the block, and was subtle enough so it didn't attract too much attention.

The building itself had an ancient but sophisticated air. Paintings hung on the walls, blackboards with the menu scrawled on hung behind the counter, and intelligent chatter was plentiful. In the winter, there was always a roaring fire burning in the heart, making for a particularly cozy meeting place. In the summer, the windows and doors were flung open, letting in a cool breeze and the lively sounds of the Latin Quarter's student life.

Musain was a character with dual personalities. By day, it was like any other coffee shop, enjoying a plethora of noise and clatter. Anyone who visited in the morning or afternoon was sure to have an engaging conversation with a fellow coffee-goer. But once five o'clock hit, it changed, becoming almost like a library, that is, a sanction. It became populated with the introverts, the readers, the thinkers. To them, the Café Musain in the evening was a place for uninterrupted peace and quite, a place to meditative and thoughtful.

It was for this reason that the café attracted a diverse but loyal group of people. These regulars were well known to the employees, who were not the baristas and servers to them, but friends. Stopping by was not an option: the customers spent time there, and they enjoyed it.

* * *

Enjolras was a student at the most prestigious university in Paris: École Normale Supérieure. He was studying law and was entirely focused on his schoolwork. In his life, there wasn't room for much outside of academics. The only leisure time he allowed himself was a weekly trip to the Musain on Saturday afternoon with his friends. Every few weekends though, Enjolras made the visit alone. His friends were sometimes too exuberant for him.

* * *

Éponine Thénardier didn't spend her days in a lecture hall; she spent them in a bookstore, shelving and restocking in the back. She worked eleven hours a day, from when the bookstore opened at nine in the morning to eight at night. The arduous time was the only way she could afford her tiny flat that housed, along with herself, her younger sister Azelma, and her three brothers: Gavroche, Laurier, and Théodore.

Like Enjolras, Éponine's life was based on thing. In her case, it was work. Once she got home from her job, Éponine would cook the next days' dinner and a little bit extra. She then ate the extra part for herself and put the rest in the refrigerator for her siblings to eat the next day. Azelma would be able to take care of breakfast and lunch for herself and the boys, but dinner was harder.

Also similar to Enjolras, Éponine's time for relaxing was on Saturdays at the Musain. She took a book and a small bit of money in her pocketbook to purchase a drink and then stayed there for a few hours into the early evening. Sitting in the café let her forget about the work she'd have to do the next day.

* * *

**A/N: It's short, but I hope you liked it! Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Bzz. Bzz. Bzz._

"Ugh, what!?" Éponine groaned. She turned her head to the side and saw her phone screen was lit up. One new message was sitting waiting for her. It was from one of her friends, Musichetta.

_Can you __come __at 7:30 today__? The sub for you yesterday sorted everything wrong, it's a mess. _

_Bzz._

_Fraure wants you to come._

Éponine turned her head into her pillow for a moment, wanting to stay in bed for as long as she could. Then she unlocked her phone and replied _I'll be there as soon as I can_.

Éponine swung herself out of the bed and dressed herself. From the bathroom while she brushed her teeth, she could hear Azelma and the boys laughing and talking to each other as they got ready for school.

Éponine sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. Dark brown hair that had a bit of a curl in it fell down her back. Her eyes matched her hair, but were a shade of brown that was neither endearing nor captivating. They were simply brown. Éponine supposed with a bit of makeup she could look pretty, but she was perfectly content with non-striking look. Besides, she didn't have the time or the luxury for such frivolities like cosmetics.

As soon as she entered the kitchen, the talk stopped. Éponine's siblings stared at her.

"What are you doing up so early?" was Azelma's greeting. No hello, no good morning.

"Musichetta says I'm needed at work." Éponine brushed past her sister and grabbed up her bag. "Sorry, but I need to go now." She waited for an answer while Azelma watched her get ready.

"Okay," Azelma said. "See you later."

Éponine bit her lip and turned away to put her coat on. Then she scanned the little room. "Well, I'm off. Have a good day at school."

"Okay," Azelma repeated. The entire time, none of her brothers had said anything. Éponine hesitated for moment. She seemed to want to say something but then thought better of it. She opened the door quickly but shut it with a slow _click._

For a moment, she stood outside the door completely still. Chatter had started back up inside, almost immediately after the door had closed. Éponine closed her eyes and listened. That was how it always was. Azelma and her brothers were so at ease with each other, but as soon as Éponine came into the room, they all seemed to shut off. Short, abrupt answers were all she could manage out of them when she tried to keep a conversation going. She felt like no one at home even knew her name; it was so rarely said in the apartment.

Gavroche, Laurier, and Théo treated her they same they might to a cousin they'd never met: it was awkward, forced, and tense. Azelma was just reserved. Not unfriendly…although not friendly either.

It was to be expected, though. Éponine's siblings hardly saw her since she worked so late and they had school. There was absolutely no relationship between her and the four younger ones.

Between Azelma and the boys, though…

Azelma was the one the boys turned to when they needed help, not Éponine. Azelma was the one who walked with them to the Metro, the one who made sure they were warm enough when they went out in the winter, the one who played with them when they were bored. Not that Éponine didn't want to do the same things Azelma did; in fact, it was the exact opposite, only the boys shied away when she tried to do anything with them. She kept her distance so she didn't make them feel uncomfortable.

What Éponine longed for were all big sister things. Azelma was the big sister in the house, not Éponine. How could someone be a big sister when she was only around her siblings three or four hours a day?

* * *

"I'm here," Éponine called into the empty bookstore. She headed towards the back after putting her things down in the staff room.

She had just made it to storage when coat whipped around a shelf. "Musichetta...?" Éponine asked hesitantly. Making her way around the corner, Éponine found herself in front of her friend, who was nervously reading a clipboard.

This surprised Éponine, because Musichetta wasn't one to get nervous. Or if she did, she did a remarkably good job of hiding it, considering that she wore the biggest heart Éponine had ever seen on her sleeve. Musichetta was the epitome of emotional. Some days she was sweet, other days as bitter as a spinster, other days downright depressed. Most of the time she was a bundle of sunshine, but out of Éponine's (albeit limited) number of acquaintances, Musichetta was the one with the broadest range of feelings.

Her appearance was one to accompany her personality, looking a bit like a child's doll in a young woman's body. Musichetta had light brown hair that she enjoyed fixing up into elaborate but elegant fashions every once in a while. She was shorter than Éponine's middling height, but not very noticeably. Musichetta's real allure, though, were her large dark eyes: they were both puppy-like and mysterious.

Upon hearing her name, Musichetta jumped. "Oh, it's you! I thought it was M. Faure. He's already yelled at me once today."

"He yelled at you—?" Éponine began indignantly.

"Well, more of a _snippy greeting_, really. I forgot to submit my daily report yesterday, so he had no idea about this—" Musichetta gestured around. "He says if he'd known there wouldn't be as much work to do, so now he's working me double time."

"Oh. Did he say anything about…" But Musichetta had taken on an alarmed look, so Éponine dropped it. "What do you need me to do?"

"Tell him that you're here, I suppose," Musichetta said. "He'll give you a job. I've got to redo all the new mystery novels that came in yesterday."

Musichetta went out into the front, leaving Éponine to find their manager. He was a few shelves over, inspecting a label on the side of a box. Éponine cleared her throat to announce herself.

"Ah, Éponine. I assume you are aware of the fiasco that's happened."

_Why else would I be here?_ Éponine thought, but she held her tongue and instead nodded.

"Idiot girl," M. Fraure muttered. "She'll never be working here again." He gave a short laugh. "We can't risk our reputation for her."

"Musichetta?" Éponine asked, worried.

M. Fraure frowned. "No, not her. The girl who came in for you yesterday. Frankly, I'm surprised she ever got past her application interview with everything that happened."

Éponine cringed. M. Fraure was mostly a nice man, but The Idle Hour was his life, and a well-liked, popular life at that. This meant a strict regiment for all the behind-the-scenes work, so it was perfect for customers. Anyone who violated the tradition of being an employee performing to the best of his or her ability was immediately sacked. M. Fraure insisted it was for the good name of the bookstore that these dismissals were necessary. Anyone who wasn't able to keep up didn't deserve to work there.

In the year that she'd been employed by M. Fraure, Éponine had considered resigning due to the disciplinarian atmosphere, but eventually decided against it. Her job really wasn't that bad. All her coworkers were friendly, the store itself was a respectable establishment, and M. Fraurer was a normally very amiable person. He was only to be feared if a toe was put out of line, which never happened to Éponine. Her job was far too important to be fooling around. Then of course, there were the books. Being surrounded by reading material was certainly a way to ensure she'd always have a way to satisfy her literary wants.

"What would you like me to do?" she said, changing the subject.

M. Fraurer patted the box he'd been examining. "These were part of the substitute's work but she never got around to them. They're children's books. Go shelf them. When you're done, I'll have some inventory for you to correct."

"Yes, monsieur." With a heave, Éponine picked up the box and made her way to the area for children. She set the box down on the ground and began to sort her way through the titles.

So began another day of long work that would end with Éponine eating with only a book for company.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for all your lovely reviews for the first chapter. It's great to know that you all enjoyed it. It really encourages me!**


	3. Chapter 3

At nine o'clock, The Idle Hour's doors opened. Éponine and Musichetta had managed to reorder everything the way it was supposed, under the watchful eye of M. Fraure. He was snappier than normal, so the girls were especially meticulous about their work.

Although Éponine had been unhappy with having to wake up early, once at work and among friends, she didn't mind it as much, especially since it meant she got to spend more time with Musichetta. In addition to her job at The Idle Hour, Musichetta was also learning how to be a professional ballet dancer with the Paris Opera Ballet, so she only worked for a few hours a day on the weekends and not at all on weekdays. Consequently, by being called in early, Éponine had a bit longer to chat with her.

The morning was slow: only a few people came in. Éponine didn't work in the front, so she couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed like there weren't many people. M. Fraure, Éponine could see, was pacing back and forth in his office. She put in some more effort to save herself any of his snaps. Her shoulders and arms were aching and her legs were about to shatter, but she couldn't stop. The next week's meals depended on her.

When she was first taken on, Éponine had requested right away for no shifts and to work the whole day. M. Fraure was skeptical, since a person working all day would eventually tire and hurt the company. But after some questioning and receiving some very roundabout answers, M. Fraure consented. Although she hadn't directly stated it, he could tell she had some trouble getting income, and he'd figured that if she were so dependent on the money, she wouldn't slack off. Thus, M. Fraure was one of the few who knew what Éponine's life was like, at least to a certain extent. She was reluctant to reveal details about her financial situation, only certain individuals having the knowledge.

In return for her hard work, M. Fraure rewarded Éponine generously: letting her off at four on Saturdays. This gave her some hours of relaxation she didn't have any other day of the week. It was at this time that she went to her sanction of the Musain. Normally she was alone; some days she encountered some friends.

After lunch, Musichetta took off back to school. Éponine continued to stock and shelf, going until the clock read four. With a relieved sigh, she finished her box.

"Thanks for coming in early, Éponine," M. Fraure said when he saw her getting ready to leave.

"No problem," she replied. "See you tomorrow." Éponine shouldered her bag and went into the street.

From there, she made a route straight for the Musain. It had already been emptied of the exuberant crowds from the morning and early afternoon, and Éponine felt a wave of mellowness wash over her when she pushed the door open.

"Hey, Éponine!" It was Clément, one of two baristas. He had already started her normal order, a mocha with a sprinkling of cinnamon, biscotti, and a slice of banana bread. He took her order to where she'd sat down, a corner table by the fireplace. It was near the back of the café and a large window was right by it.

"Thanks, Clément," Éponine said as he put down her drink.

"You look tired," he noticed. "Long day at work?"

Éponine gave him a wan smile. "Fraure woke me up a tad early."

"Ah. Well hopefully this'll wake you up."

Éponine shrugged. "You know caffeine makes me just makes me sleepy," she said.

"Ah yes, I've forgotten," Clément said. "Éponine Thenardier, the only Parisian who can resist the powerful lull of caffeine." He grinned and then clapped his hands. "Well, I've got to get back to work."

"All right," Éponine said, and Clément returned to the counter.

It took less than ten minutes for her to be completely immersed in her world of literature. For the next few hours, Éponine's eyes didn't stray from her pages. The rest of the Musain was blotted out, the sounds of the other coffee goers becoming a muffled blur. All she could focus on was the story. Nothing could crack her concentration.

Except him.

Marius Pontmercy.

Éponine's didn't break her eyes away from the page, but it his voice that jolted her from her attentiveness. From amid the indistinct ambience of the Musain, it was the only thing that she could distinguish. The instant she heard him, she raised her eyes from her page, almost instinctively. There he was, standing at the counter and taking his order. Her insides clenched together at seeing him. Marius Pontmercy, the man whose very existence had haunted her ever since she'd first met him.

Then she slapped herself mentally. _You've got to get a hold of yourself. Stop dreaming about him; he's already taken. And with someone he won't be letting go of any time soon._

Well, well. That someone just happened to walk in. Cosette turned into the café, all abloom like a flower, as she always was. Suddenly overtaken with no desire to converse, Éponine shifted her seat so her back was to the couple of Marius and Cosette. Her face hidden, Éponine closed her eyes and hoped she wouldn't be noticed. But even as she did, she could feel the eyes on her.

"'Ponine!"

Éponine relaxed with the air of defeated person. She had failed miserably. "Oh, hello, Cosette. I didn't see you come in," Éponine lied.

Cosette laughed. "Marius will be happy that you're here. It's been ages since we've hung out. Of course, I've been so busy in school, and you have work—oh!" Cosette jumped up at the sight of Marius arriving at the table. "Marius, it's Éponine!"

Marius looked her over and grinned. "So it is. What are you doing here?"

Without a word, Éponine opened her arms to the table. Marius rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, faking huffiness. "Some of us come here to do other things than drink coffee, you know."

Éponine leaned back in her chair. "Then may I ask if you are supposed to be doing something else?" she asked, enjoying the banter.

It was Cosette who answered, to Éponine's somewhat annoyance. "We're waiting for a friend. Another friend," she added as an afterthought.

That implied that Cosette thought she was a friend of Éponine's. Éponine herself didn't know what to think of that statement. Yes, they were cordial and decent to each other, but Éponine didn't feel like she could both be friends with a person and resent her at the same time.

Musichetta was a mutual friend between them both and was how Éponine knew Cosette in the first place. On one occasion, when Éponine was at the Musain, Cosette had walked in with Musichetta. Naturally, they joined Éponine. Almost at once, Cosette burst into a lament of seeing a handsome young man at the outside that very coffee house the day before. He'd looked at her and smiled, so Cosette had returned that day in hope of getting his name from one of the employees in the shop. Funnily enough, the previous night, Éponine had welcomed Marius into her little kitchen for him to regale her about an angel he'd seen in the afternoon. Éponine relayed this information out to Cosette, and without thinking, told her that she could set up a meeting for them. Cosette grabbed onto the arrangement at once and within a week, they had started seeing each other regularly. Éponine, meanwhile, cursed herself for being so stupid.

Marius lived in the same apartment complex as she did. When Éponine, at eighteen years old, and her siblings were first forced to move in three years ago, it was Marius who'd helped them settle down and show them around the area. At a time when she'd felt completely alone and without a single friend, Marius's help and welcoming personality had meant the world to Éponine. As their friendship grew, Éponine fell more and more in love with him; she was so enamored by his kindness and warmth. Her hasty reveal of knowing him to Cosette had been the result of her want to be seem convivial and not so unsociable, as she knew that she could be all too often. She'd been desperate to make more companions, but Éponine was sure if she had been content with her two confidants of Musichetta and Marius, she wouldn't have said anything. But she hadn't been and now didn't think she could call Cosette an actual friend either.

"Oh," was all Éponine could say after circulating all these thoughts in her head. "Are you guys going to be staying, or…?"

Marius put his arm around Cosette and squeezed her close to him. Éponine felt like he was squeezing her heart. "We're going to be taking off. I just need to return a book that friend left at my place. I think he's going to be staying, though; he didn't have time to come last week, so he'll want to today. It won't be long, but maybe you two can chat."

Cosette laughed. "Marius, please! You must be joking. As soon as he gets his book back, all he's going to do is read it."

"You never know," Marius said reasonably.

"Well, we'll find out soon enough. He said he'd be here at seven-thirty, which is right now. He's never late—"

Éponine jumped. "It's that late already? Oh, mon Dieu, I should be home by now!" She stuffed her book into her bag, upsetting the table a little bit and surprising her acquaintances. "Good seeing you, Cosette—Marius—" She threw some money down on the table and went through the door so quickly she stumbled hard into the incoming young man. "Excusez-moi, monsieur!" Éponine gasped, disentangling herself from the stranger. "I didn't mean to; are you—"

"Quite all right, mademoiselle," the man interrupted in a voice that, for some compelling reason, made Éponine forget her haste and look at him.

* * *

**A/N: Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

For all her desire to go home, Éponine couldn't help but stare.

He came off to her as very impressive.

There was a kind of distantness about him. Coldness, too. A bit like a marble statue. Waves of golden blonde hair that looked like the sort Michelangelo's David had and blue eyes. His face was serious and stoic: clearly, he was a man who would rather spend a night alone reading rather than at a club party. There was a sort of subtle fierceness about him that almost made Éponine nervous.

But—he was beautiful.

And not just physically. It was a powerful, strong, commanding beauty—he seemed like he could be the personification of something, although Éponine didn't know what. Something good, something worth fighting for. She stood there in front of him, in awe, and she didn't even know why she was so stupefied. There was something about this young man—

"May I help you, mademoiselle?" the young man asked, snapping Éponine out of her reverie. She suddenly realized she'd been gaping at him like a fish, drawing up romanticized depictions of whom she thought this man was. Immediately, Éponine flushed a dark red.

"Ah, no, monsieur," Éponine managed through her embarrassment. "Please, forgive me." She stepped aside and held the door open. The young man dipped his head at her slightly.

"Merci."

As soon as the man had walked through, Éponine let the door fall back, realizing what had just happened. She'd been acting like some silly schoolgirl dreaming about a famous celebrity, all over that stranger who she stupidly ran into. Éponine walked as fast as she could back to her apartment, burning with mortification.

* * *

"Enjolras! Over here!" Enjolras saw Marius waving a hand.

"You have my book?" Enjolras said, making his way towards his fellow student.

"Right here," Marius said, handing it over. "Although, for the life of me, I don't see why you would want this biography on Robespierre back. I took a look through it; it seems like a total bore."

"He was a fascinating man," Enjolras said curtly. "It doesn't bore me, I assure you." He flipped through the volume briefly for a post-return examination. Whenever a book of his was in possession of someone else for longer than a day, Enjolras always went through to make sure there was nothing wrong with it.

Marius shrugged and stood up. "Whatever you say. Cosette, are you ready?"

"Yes," came the reply.

"All right then. So I'll see you in class tomorrow?" he asked Enjolras.

"I'm not going to be anywhere else," Enjolras confirmed. He followed their path to the door with his eyes briefly, watching Marius put his hand on the small of Cosette's back and gently lead her out of the café. He couldn't help but feel a little indifferent to their relationship. There were so many more important things to be doing. Surely, the point of men on earth was for them to give back and improve society, not indulge in personal romances.

Not that Marius didn't care, but he was certainly more restrained and confined in his efforts. When a man was occupied with several dates a week, it was a tad more difficult to be doing work that was focused towards bettering the community, after all. Enjolras leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

"Alexandre Enjolras!"

He jerked slightly at the sound of his name and sat up straight, finding the rather bosomy, red lipsticked Brigitte frowning at him, hands on her hips.

"I hope you aren't planning on napping here all night without purchasing a drink. Not even you can get away with that."

"Of course not," Enjolras sighed. "Just my usual."

Brigitte had it prepared immediately. It was an easy order, since Enjolras took his coffee black and with nothing else. She brought it over to him and then commenced to sit across from him. Enjolras had brought the cup to his lips but then lowered at it. He raised his eyebrows at Brigitte.

"Yes?"

She shrugged. "Nothing."

"Don't you have work to do?" Enjolras pointed out.

"It's almost closing time," she said carelessly. "No one will care. Except for you, of course. You need to learn to loosen up."

Enjolras didn't answer her and tried to concentrate on his reading, only to be interrupted by Brigitte again.

"How can you sit there and read that book of yours?" she demanded. "Since you had that little altercation."

Enjolras eyed her from over the edge of the book. "What altercation?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No, I really don't."

Brigitte looked exasperated. "That girl?" she prompted.

"What girl? Oh. You mean the one just now. What about her?"

"You must be blind," Brigitte said. "She was staring at you like you were a god! Doesn't that interest you at all?"

"Not particularly," Enjolras said. "She was doing nothing of the sort, anyway. All she did was look at me for a moment and hold the door."

"Mon cher, I don't mean to flatter myself, but I think I know how to read a girl's face a touch better than you can," Brigitte said mulishly. "She was definitely not just looking at you. Besides, how could she, after running into such a handsome person such as yourself?"

Enjolras sighed again. Brigitte was nice, but sometimes a bother, and she knew it. She was outrageously flirtatious and had a rather voluptuous figure, something she used all too often to get unsuspecting men to do her little favors, although all innocent of course. Enjolras had known her for quite a while, so Brigitte was aware that nothing affected him, but still liked to tease him and play games.

"I'm sure you're mistaken."

Brigitte threw her hands up. "You're hopeless! If you don't shape up, you'll end up dying alone. Do you want that?"

"Plenty of people have died alone, and they still managed to do great things in their lifetime."

"Oh yes? Name one," she challenged.

In response, Enjolras showed the barista the cover of his book. Brigitte's face wrinkled in confusion. Enjolras himself felt for a second a flash of bemusement. "It's Robespierre—"

"Yes, I know who he is!" Brigitte snapped huffily, interrupting Enjolras before could begin into one of his long-winded lectures on the Revolution. She'd had enough of those for a lifetime.

* * *

The apartment was dark when Éponine unlocked the door.

"Hello?" The kitchen had been neatly cleaned up, and there was no sound to be heard. She couldn't believe that everyone was asleep already. Setting her key down, Éponine went towards her and Azelma's room, where a small light was on.

Azelma was wearing sweatpants and a ratty pajama shirt, her dark hair piled into a messy bun. She lay on the bed, holding what Éponine figured to be schoolwork over her head. Azelma put it down when she heard Éponine come in.

"Sorry I'm late," Éponine said. "I lost track of time. I guess you and the boys were fine, though."

"Yeah." Azelma went back to her paper.

Éponine stood awkwardly in the door for a moment and tried again. "Why don't you sit at the desk?" she asked, indicating the desk she and Azelma shared. It was at the far end of the room, against the window. "It'll be more comfortable and better on your eyes."

"I'm happy where I am."

And she promptly went back to acting as if Éponine hadn't said anything at all. Éponine took the hint and quietly left her sister to do her work.

In the kitchen, she began to prepare the next day's dinner. Tomorrow was Sunday, so she'd have to go grocery shopping again. Standing over the stove, Éponine made an internal list of what she needed. Carrots, broccoli, apples, a pack of coffee beans—

Which brought to mind her incident earlier that day. At that moment, Éponine was by the stove, so her redness could be taken as a result from the heat in case anyone walked in.

She wanted to shrink up just thinking about it. Éponine had seen attractive men before, but she didn't think she'd ever been so obvious with her own admiration. And to have him have to say something about it! It would have been one thing if Éponine herself had realized what she was doing and snapped herself out of it. But the stranger making a remark on it was just awful.

"Oh God, what's your problem?" Éponine groaned, spinning around to put her head on the table momentarily. "He probably thinks you're a freak now."

She knew that they would probably never meet again, but the memory made her shrivel up inside. One more person who wouldn't be thinking well of her.

By the time a few days had passed, though, Éponine had forgotten about it. The workweek moved by at its usual sluggish pace. M. Fraure sacked someone and then hired someone. Théo got a headache; Éponine went to buy medicine, and Azemla administered it to him.

On Saturday, Éponine remembered. It made her wary to go near the place again, but on her way out of The Idle Hour, she talked some sense into herself: "What, are you going to never go there again because of one stupid incident? How much of an idiot are you? Come on, Éponine, man up!" With that, Éponine squared her shoulders and almost marched all the way to the Musain, attracting some strange looks from the other pedestrians.

"I'm not letting why I think one person's opinion of me prevent me from enjoying my half day off," Éponine declared stoutly as she reached the Musain. She reached forward to whisk the door open only to have it opened from the inside. Éponine's eyes were drawn upward towards the person who had opened the door first. She froze.

It was he again, speaking to a curly-haired friend over his shoulder. Éponine took a step backward so as to avoid another collision and hoped he would pass by without noticing.

He did.

The young man turned his head to the front again and then spotted her. He did a bit of a double take, and then Éponine knew that he'd recognized her. Determined not to look at him and knowing once again she was red in the face, Éponine bowed her head and slipped into the café.

* * *

**A/N: A bit on Enjolras's name - Alexandre means "defender, protector of man". I thought that was a very fitting name for him.**

**Please review! I love your feedback!**


	5. Chapter 5

Enjolras walked down the street with a purposeful stride, causing his companion, Grantaire, to have to hurry to keep up.

"Hey," Grantaire said.

"What is it, Grantaire," Enjolras said, still annoyed with the abuse his book had suffered. He did not slow down his walk to accommodate Grantaire.

"Who was that girl?"

"What girl?" Enjolras said.

"The one just now. It looked as if she had recognized you from somewhere."

Enjolras kept his pace, thinking back. "Ah yes," he conceded as they crossed the street. "She bumped into me last week. Why?"

Grantaire shrugged. "No reason. Just wondering."

Enjolras spun on his heel and stopped, facing Grantaire suspiciously. "That's not true. What were you thinking?"

"That was it!" Grantaire insisted. But under Enjolras's piercing look, his resolution withered. "Well...she was staring at you. With eyes wide open. I was thinking maybe—

Enjolras sighed and resumed walking. "I should have never asked. Don't tell me you're all over this too. That's what Brigitte told me. You both are ridiculous."

"What?" Grantaire sprinted forward in front of Enjolras, blocking his path. "Brigitte said something to you? The same thing?" At Enjolras's nod, something seemed to register in his head. "I've got to talk to her," he said suddenly. "Don't wait up; you can go back to the dorm. See you later." Grantaire walked around Enjolras quickly and headed back the opposite direction.

Enjolras looked after him for a moment, bemused. Then he shook it off. What Grantaire did was Grantaire's business, and usually foolish, idiotic business at that. Enjolras didn't think much of it.

What Enjolras _did_ think much of were his studies. From the Musain, he went to the university library to get back to work. There was a plethora of knowledge in the library, and Enjolras soaked it all in. He was probably the student who frequented the place the most often and stayed the longest. He would linger there until seven, at which time he took a short dinner. Then he went back to his dorm room and read for the rest of the night or worked more on school, depending what had already been finished that day. Enjolras was a rigorous student who didn't play games. His dorm was full of books and notes, so much so that he had run out of space for them all and had resorted to keeping them in odd places like in the closet or under his mattress. Enjolras was both renowned and notorious around the ENS for his intense study.

Enjolras's roommate Combeferre had found his almost obsessive behavior towards his school discerning at first, but learned to live with it. Enjolras, did, after all, make sure for his habits to not intrude on Combeferre's schedule and space.

Another peculiarity of Enjolras was his passion for his country. An enormous French map was hung next to his bed, and on the door, two flags were crossed: one of the tricolor and the other a deep, solid red. He didn't seem to wear anything other than red, white, blue, and black. Bastille Day was like Christmas to him. If there wasn't a book about law in his hand, it was bound to be a book about the Revolution. A strange brightness shone in his eyes whenever he talked about France, and he was so passionate, a man talking to him would have believed that France could do anything. It would be very easy for one to accuse Enjolras of being chauvinistic, though he was not.

Enjolras was the president of the ENS charity and volunteer club as well: the Friends of the ABC. Every week, a meeting was held in his dorm building to discuss various events where they could lend their services to Paris, but especially to the poor and homeless. There was a seasonal drive of some sort, which Enjolras oversaw. From donors on campus, the Friends of the ABC collected food, clothing, blankets, and other necessities, which Enjolras then distributed to local organizations also committed to helping the less fortunate. Around the Christmas season, they walked around Paris with the supplies and bought hot drinks, personally handing out them to any of the homeless they happened across. Enjolras directed a few people to various parts of the city so that the relief was as widespread as possible. It was all very uniform, with Enjolras and Combeferre at the head of things.

* * *

Grantaire burst into the Musain, breathless. "Where's Brigitte?" he gasped.

"Here," she replied. "Denis, what are you doing back here? We're about to close."

"Just one moment," Grantaire wheezed. "I'll be quick about it." Brigitte fetched him a drink of water, which he gulped down gratefully. "Thanks," he said.

"So what is it?" Brigitte questioned.

"I was talking to Enjolras. I don't know if you saw, but when we were leaving there was a girl standing outside. I think she was about to come in and we beat her to the door."

Brigitte's expression changed to interest. "A girl?"

Grantaire's eyes widened. "You know her, don't you?"

"I believe so, if the girl had brown hair and eyes and was a little love-struck by the sight of our lovely Alex?" Brigitte said slyly.

Grantaire stood silent. "That was probably her," he said. "Do you know her?"

Brigitte shrugged. "My brother usually takes care of her, but a little."

"Well, tell Clément to see to it that that girl doesn't start getting any ideas. Enjolras is very busy with school and his club. I don't want him to start losing focus."

Brigitte laughed. "I'll pass on the message, but I don't think you need to worry. From what I know, she doesn't need a relationship right now either."

* * *

The next day, Sunday, Éponine went to work, her mind set. No more foolishness, not here. She arrived slightly early, at eight o'clock. There were ten minutes until the beginning of M. Fraure's rundown for the morning, a briefing for the staff of work for the day. Éponine hung her coat and bag on the back of a chair and quietly slipped into her seat next to Musichetta in the back of the room.

Éponine turned to say something to her friend and then stopped. She frowned. Musichetta's face was hidden by her hair, her head slumped forward a little.

"Musichetta?" Éponine brushed aside Musichetta's hair and saw with some surprise that she was fast asleep, only to jerk awake at the feeling of someone touching her.

"Wha—! Oh, Éponine."

Éponine sat back. "What's wrong? Why were you sleeping?"

Musichetta rubbed her eyes. "I'm so tired. I went out with Valère last night because we haven't for a while and I was _so _late getting back. Well—not that late, but then I felt guilty, so I stayed up doing pointe work." She yawned.

"Just be careful," Éponine warned her. "If M. Fraure catches you, it won't be pretty."

"I know, I know," Musichetta said. "I just haven't been this tired in so long, and you weren't here—" Musichetta broke off, catching sight of Éponine's face. "Are you listening?"

"Oh, yes, sorry!" Éponine apologized. She had lapsed into her own thoughts after hearing Musichetta's explanation. "Keep going!"

Musichetta's pretty face looked disbelieving. "Come on, what's the matter? Something's wrong."

Éponine thought of the blonde stranger. "Some—person is all—"

But that was Musichetta needed, who was wide-awake now. She drew in a violent breath. "'Ponine! Do you have yourself a special someone that I don't know about?"

Éponine almost recoiled. "No! Of course not!"

"He's a man, though, right? Around our age?" Musichetta guessed eagerly.

Without a word, Éponine nodded slightly. Musichetta clasped her hands together with a little squeal. "What does he look like?"

"Blonde, wavy hair," Éponine said after a moment. "And blue eyes." She stopped there. Anything more and Musichetta would definitely run away with it.

As Éponine expected, Musichetta looked disappointed. "That's all?"

"Well—it's more impressive in real life," Éponine said in a low voice, feeling slightly awkward. She usually didn't talk about this subject; it was a foreign aspect to her. Not to Musichetta, though, who giggled.

"You're right about that. I suppose you don't have a name."

Éponine shook her head. "Not a clue."

"That's a shame," Musichetta lamented. "If you did, maybe I would know him and you two could have a proper meet up."

"Wait, what do you mean, a 'proper meet up'?" Éponine said. "Let's get one thing straight here: I don't _like _him or anything like that!"

"You said you've been thinking about him," Musichetta countered.

"Only because I keep running into him!" Éponine said hotly. "He only crossed my mind for a moment, all right?"

Musichetta didn't look placated, which worried Éponine. She could never be sure of what Musichetta would do. "Look, more likely than not, it was pure coincidence. I doubt I'll ever see him again," Éponine said. Even as she spoke, though, she remembered that she'd thought that once before and her prediction turned out differently than reality. Musichetta seemed to assume as much.

"Don't you want someone special in your life, Éponine? Cosette called me yesterday, and she's so happy with Marius—"

_Don't remind me. _

Then Musichetta stopped, and Éponine checked herself in a panic. She'd never told anyone about her feelings toward Marius. Had something in her face revealed her secret to Musichetta?

No, the reason was much more simple, to Éponine's relief. M. Fraure had started. She let out a sigh of relief. The conversation had been heading towards an uncomfortable area. While M. Fraure droned on about reorganizing the storeroom, Éponine let her mind wander.

The mention of Marius had driven the thought of the stranger from her mind. Any attraction was ridiculous and arbitrary, anyway (even there was none). But while she had no legitimate reason for falling in love with the stranger, she did have one for falling in love with Marius.

When M. Fraure dismissed them all to mill about until opening time, Musichetta once more turned to Éponine. "Éponine, can I meet with you at the Musain next time you go? I know it's your special 'you time', but Lavère's birthday is the week after that and I want to get him some of his favorite coffee as part of his gift."

Éponine smiled a little. "He doesn't mind what the caffeine does to him?"

Musichetta rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm trying to get him to relax, and I think coffee does the trick for him. He's so high-strung after getting back from the hospital that he's as jumpy as a hare. And I'm going to get some other stuff as well, but the Musain is the only place where I can get the coffee, so can I?"

"Sure," Éponine agreed. "Will you stay for a drink too?"

Musichetta seemed to dither for a moment. "Perhaps. It's been awhile since I took a break there, but I'll have to make sure I earn it."

"Of course," Éponine said.

* * *

**A/N: Ugh. ****Three infinitives all in a row at the start. Sorry 'bout that. **

**Grantaire's not gay for Enjorlas, FYI. He's just a sort of a manager that Enjolras finds kinda annoying and doesn't really need, but lets him do whatever because he's not doing any harm either. **

**Denis - "follower of Dionysus", Dionysus is the Greek god of wine**

**Valère - "to be healthy, strong" this is Joly's first name**

**Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, but here's chapter 6! This takes place on the Friday after Chapter 5. **

* * *

Worn out after another day, Éponine pushed open the door to the little apartment. As per usual, she was greeted by no one. Not wanting to waste a moment, Éponine washed her hands and got to work on the next day's meal. She ladled out a bowl for herself when she was done, ate it, and then washed it. The apartment remained as silent as a graveyard the entire time. Her presence seemed to kill any voluntary sound from her siblings.

On her way to her room, Éponine's eye caught side of her brothers. Their door was slightly open, and though the gap, Éponine could see Laurier crouched over a book and Théo scribbling on a piece of scratch paper. That was odd. Théo normally was in bed by this time, tiring himself out after roughhousing a bit with Gavroche and Laurier.

Éponine knocked on the door and then pushed it open. She knew that they wouldn't say anything until she did, so she said, "Théo, you're still awake? Have you played your little game?"

Laurier looked from side to side. "Not today. Gavroche's not here."

"What—?" Éponine scanned the room. Laurier was right: the oldest of her brothers was missing. "Where is he?"

Laurier shrugged.

"Is he with Azelma? In our room?"

A shake of the head. "Dunno."

Éponine stood still, trying to calm the rising panic she was feeling. Clearly, Laurier was going to be of minimal assistance. Without another word, she sought out Azelma.

"Azelma!" Éponine cried, bursting into their room. Her sister scrambled up, alarmed by her sudden appearance.

"What?"

"Did you know that Gavroche isn't here? In the apartment?"

Azlema visibly relaxed. "Oh, that. Yeah, I know."

"Well, _where is he?_" Éponine demanded, thoroughly irritated by Azelma's obvious lack of concern and the fact that she hadn't told Éponine as soon as Éponine had come back from work.

"With Marius's friend."

"_Who?_" Éponine said, aggravated.

Azelma thought for a moment. "I forgot his name. Started with a C. I think they're going somewhere together."

Éponine's mouth fell open at her sister's carelessness. "You don't even remember his name but you let our twelve-year-old brother go running off with him to some place in the city?"

Azelma seemed to take offense at Éponine's accusation. "Hey, I have to remember a lot of things, all right? Give me a break. And he's not a serial killer, okay?"

"How do you know?" Éponine challenged. "You don't know anything about him."

"He's the guy who shares Marius's apartment, that how!" Azelma said, flaring up.

That left Éponine dumbfounded. "His roommate, you mean. Honoré Courfeyrac," she said flatly. Courfeyrac she'd only met once, when she first moved in. Marius had brought him along. He'd seemed nice enough, but she didn't know him much at all to make any further assumptions, and definitely not well enough to let him hang around with her brother by themselves.

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Would you stop acting like that?" Éponine snapped, trying but failing to keep the anger out of her voice. "Do you not realize how stupid of a decision you might have made? And did it never cross your mind that I might want to know that our brother isn't here?"

"I just forgot!" Azelma retorted. "You know now, anyway, so what's the big deal? Gavroche is fine. We know Courfeyrac. Calm down."

"Well, it would be a lot easier to calm down if I actually knew where Gavroche is!" Éponine said sarcastically. "We don't 'know' Courfeyrac, Azelma. You couldn't even remember his name, and you don't let people go off with another person just you've talked to him one day before in your life. For all we know, Gavroche could be in big trouble right now."

Azelma let out an exasperated breath. "Well, would _you_ stop trying to blame me for everything? Gavroche knew whom he was when he showed up. It's not like this Courfeyrac just opened the door and kidnapped him. I asked him who he was, and Gavroche told me. They said they were going to hang around in his and Marius's place for a while, and then they were doing something at the ENS. Gavroche trusted him, so I didn't see why I shouldn't."

"He's twelve, Azelma!" Éponine shouted. "How is he supposed to know what's good or bad!?"

"Oh, so now you're saying he has bad judgment? No wonder the boys don't like you." Azelma made a face at her sister. "And you're always acting like you don't know why," she said in a wicked voice.

It was like a punch in the face.

Éponine knew that her brothers didn't feel much affection for her, but to have it thrown so bluntly in her face like that…she was so furious and dejected at the same time at the fact that her sister had brought up the unhappy reality that she couldn't say anything at all. She just stood there, trembling.

Then she turned swiftly and stormed back into the kitchen, not caring how loud she was. Azelma ran out after her when she heard Éponine putting her coat back on. "Where are you going?" Azelma said.

"For a walk," Éponine hissed. "I need to get out of here. But why are you even asking? It's not like anyone will be missing me if I'm gone. Because no one here gives a damn about how I'm feeling, even though that's all I even do for everyone else."

* * *

Éponine walked down the street as fast as she could. Anywhere close to her building was the last place she wanted to be at the moment. It reminded her how insignificant she was to everyone in her family.

A few blocks away, Éponine stopped to catch her breath. She leaned her head against the nearest building and quite unexpectedly, felt tears building up in her eyes.

Nothing in her life was the way she thought it would be. Éponine used to always think that she'd be friends with her siblings, but especially Azelma. They had been so close when they had been younger, back when they still lived with their parents. Before their parents packed up and left them to fend for themselves. Now Azelma probably hated her. Éponine knew that they'd been growing apart, but there wasn't animosity. After tonight, there would be. And for such a stupid reason.

Éponine knew that Azelma was fundamentally in the right. Yes, Éponine did feel as if she were justified in that she should have been informed about Gavroche's departure, but in everything else…

It only made sense; Marius would have moved out or found another roommate if Courfeyrac wasn't a decent person through and through. Gavroche was young, but he wasn't stupid. He was actually very smart, and Éponine knew it. Things had just come out of her mouth so suddenly because she was so wound up; she'd needed something to say…

There was only so much Éponine could take, and she'd been taking it for months now. Someone would have to be on the receiving end everything that she was keeping bottled up, and it was just her luck that it was one of people she was doing all she could remedy her relationship with.

Éponine pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes. She could feel herself crying. She wanted to stop, but she couldn't. Everything was such a mess.

"…Éponine?" a voice said next to her.

Éponine whipped around. It was Cosette, looking perfectly put together, as she always did. It was this girl who was dating the man she loved…

"What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

"I could be asking you the same," Éponine said roughly.

"Never mind myself," Cosette said, waving her hand. "What's wrong?"

Éponine instantly regretted the harsh manner she'd just used. She almost wanted to scream. _Curse Cosette_, Éponine thought bitterly. She could hear the genuine worry in Cosette's voice. Cosette wasn't asking because it was polite, she was asking because she really did care about Éponine.

Of course she did, Éponine thought. It was because of her that Cosette was so happily in love. Who wouldn't be grateful? Éponine had just been so resentful about her own shortcomings that she'd refused to acknowledge that Cosette wanted to be a friend. She didn't deserve any of the coldness that Éponine might have shown in the past.

"Nothing," Éponine said. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Cosette said doubtfully.

Éponine tried to smile in her most winning fashion possible. "I am," she insisted. "Don't worry about me. You go on. I don't want to waste your time."

"Helping you isn't wasting my time," Cosette said gently.

Another surge of self-hatred boiled up inside Éponine.

"Really, I'm fine. I just want to be alone for a while," Éponine said. That part was at least true. Cosette was just making Éponine feel worse and worse with her kind words.

"Oh." Cosette straightened up. "Well, if that'll make you feel better, I suppose. But if you want to talk to me later, just call, okay? I mean, I'll be occupied, but I won't mind. And I don't think anyone else will, either."

Éponine could tell she was alluding to Marius, but also noticed that tact that Cosette was using. She hadn't directly mentioned him yet. And yet…Éponine knew that she'd never told anyone how she felt about Marius. Was she that obvious?

"Sure," Éponine said, taking care not to show any signs of understanding the reference. Ignorance, she deemed, was the best course of action. If Cosette thought that Éponine hadn't picked up on her date with Marius tonight, she would feel better.

Cosette gave her a golden smile. "I'll see you later, Éponine."

Éponine nodded and watched Cosette walk off. How many more blunders could Éponine make before she was drowning in inconsolable regret?

Not many.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you all liked it! By the way, thanks so much for 91 people who've got this on their story alert...with that many people following it, can a few more of you review? Thank you!****  
**

**Honoré - honor, obviously. "Only, Courfeyrac was an honorable fellow." Sorry I couldn't find a better name for him. **


	7. Chapter 7

Friday had dawned overcast, with dark clouds smudging across the sky. It was likely to rain later in the day, the next day surely. Enjolras had hoped it would clear up by the time that the Friends of the ABC convened for their weekly meeting, but it persisted for the whole day. At eight-thirty in the evening, he took his notebook and headed down to the main floor of his building, Combeferre behind him, and headed towards the room that was always vacated for their use at this time on Friday nights.

* * *

Éponine stood with her head against the building for a while after Cosette had walked off. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the street, the relative silenced punctured only a few times. It was in her interest not to think about anything else and only the ambience she was in—a calming one.

Standing at the side of the street, Éponine could have stayed there for the rest of her life, with no cares or responsibilities in the world. But then she remembered. She had to find where Gavroche was. And besides, Éponine had felt the shift in the wind, heard the soft puttering of drops. A little fall of rain had started. Not a storm, but enough to make her not want to stay in it for long.

Azelma had said Courfeyrac was taking Gavroche to the university. Éponine had never set foot on the campus, but she knew where it was, and there was a first time for everything.

* * *

No one else was there when they arrived, which surprised Enjolras. He'd expected Courfeyrac to be on time, at the very least. The others were very rarely all assembled when they were supposed to, to Enjolras's ever-growing impatience. But Courfeyrac was one of the few who usually there when he was supposed to be. Enjolras turned to Combeferre.

"Where's Courfeyrac? He should be here."

Combeferre shrugged. "I don't know." He pulled out his phone. "He didn't tell me anything."

"Nor I," Enjolras said, frustrated slightly. He took a seat at the head of the table and made a note. "He better not have lost those copies I told him to make and is looking for them right now—"

"Marius just sent me something," Combeferre interrupted suddenly.

"Yes?"

"He says…he's out with Cosette. He doesn't think he'll be able to make it to the meeting."

"Wonderful," Enjolras muttered. "Well, he and Courfeyrac are flat mates; see if he knows where Courfeyrac is."

"'…No idea'," Combeferre said after a few minutes. " "He said he would be going out after class. Haven't seen him since.' Where do you think he could be? He never skips, so…"

"All right, whatever," Enjolras said. "He'll show up when he does—"

And then he did, curly black hair and all. Enjolras stood up. "Courfeyrac, finally. I—" He noticed a small boy that his friend had in tow. "Who's this?"

The boy stepped forward and held out his hand. He was bursting with confidence, Enjolras noted, and he could tell right away that the boy was unusually bright. He seemed the type who might give a teacher quite a bit of grief.

"How do you do? My name's Gavroche."

Enjolras took Gavroche's little hand and shook it carefully. "Fine. I'm Enjolras."

"Yeah, I know already," Gavroche said at once. "Courfeyrac told me. On the way here."

"How do you know him?" Combeferre asked Gavroche.

"He lives in the flat above me," Courfeyrac answered. "He seemed like he was bored, so I just invited him down to help me look for those papers—whoops," he said, seeing Enjolras's alarmed look. "I didn't lose them!" he defended himself quickly.

"If you had to enlist assistance, you obviously didn't know where they were," Enjorlas pointed out.

"I _misplaced _them," Courfeyrac corrected him. "Anyway, it was Gavroche who discovered them, and I thought it would be nice to bring him along to find out what they were for."

"Just so long as he doesn't disturb the rest of us," Enjolras allowed. "That is, when they show up. Hand me that." He indicated a file Courfeyrac had under his arm, which Courfeyrac gave. As he began to sort through them, members finally began to trickle in.

First it was Jehan, followed by Bahorel, who was being lectured on the latest Polish news by Feuilly, the only one among the young men who didn't attend school. Grantaire stumbled into the room last, holding a package of some ungodly alcoholic beverage. "Drinks for everyone!" he announced, grinning. All the boys cheered, except for Enjolras.

"Oh, shut up," he said. He scanned the room. "Where are Joly and Lesgles?"

"Stuck on the Metro," one of the boys said. "It broke down," he laughed.

Enjolras groaned. "Probably Lesgles's doing. Well, enough time has been wasted already for the night. They'll arrive late, and that's that. Everyone quiet down; Grantaire, put that bottle down and try to at least act sober. Why the hell do you have an entire bottle of wine with you anyway? That was a rhetorical question," he said, seeing that Grantaire was about to speak.

The rest of the boys had calmed down and were sitting now. "Everyone, this is Gavroche, by the way," Enjolras said, gesturing towards the young boy who was sitting next to Courfeyrac. "Courfeyac brought him here." Enjolras cleared his throat.

"As you all might remember from last week's meeting, we're going to be starting our food drive very shortly. Does everyone have their boxes?" There was a general murmur of confirmation. "If you don't, make sure to find one by next week, and bring it to the meeting. _Everyone_ will bring their boxes," Enjolras said.

"Question!" said Gavroche, surprising Enjolras.

"Yes?"

"Should I bring in a box as well? I've got plenty of them; my brothers like to hide in them and play forts. But we can give one up if you need it."

Enjolras blinked. He hadn't expected this. "Since you are not a member of Les Amis, no, you are not required to bring anything. I won't ask you to do that just because you attended this one meeting. If you would like to, however, and will be coming again next week, I will not refuse it. We appreciate anything that's given, but you don't have to feel obligated to participate."

"I'll bring one anyway," Gavroche said, and said nothing more.

"Right, well…excellent." Enjolras straightened. "Combeferre will now give you all your addresses. Don't lose them; we have the addresses saved and can get you another copy, but just for convenience, try to keep track of them and bring them to the meeting next week as well so we don't have to write it down for you again. As soon as everyone comes, I'd like for us to be on our way, understand?"

Another murmur swept the room. For the moment while Combeferre was talking, Enjolras sat down. Next to him, Courfeyrac's phone rang.

"Hello? Oh. Hi. How did you get my number?" A pause. "Oh. I see, okay. Yeah, I've got him." Courfeyrac gave a glance towards Gavroche. "No, he's perfectly fine." A pause. "Right now? Well—okay. Where are you?" A pause. "That close? Okay, I'll bring him. Just wait one minute. Mm-hm. We'll be right out. Okay." Courfeyrac stuffed his phone into his pocket again and stood up, stretching.

"Enjolras, I've got to get this guy home," he said.

"What, already?" Gavroche complained.

"Sorry, bud," Courfeyac apologized. "That was your sister. She's worried sick about you. Better not keep her waiting, huh?"

"I guess," Gavroche said, somewhat grudgingly. "Bye, Enjolras. I'll bring my box next week."

Enjolras acknowledged him with a nod. "All right. See you later."

Taking Gavroche by the shoulders, Courfeyrac steered Gavroche through the students, who, once they realized Gavroche was leaving, all shouted good-bye. Clearly, Gavroche had proved to be popular with the crowd.

* * *

Éponine stood across the hall from the room the Friends of the ABC were meeting in. It hadn't taken her long to figure out where to find Gavroche, surprisingly enough. She'd called Marius (after a heated debate with herself on whether she should interrupt his date with Cosette), who supplied her with all the information she needed. Navigating around the massive ENS campus had been difficult, but a few friendly students pointed the way out for her.

Now she waited for the door to open and for Gavroche to appear. He did so after only a few minutes of waiting. Even though Éponine knew that he was fine, she was nonetheless relieved when he came out looking like he always did: full of mischief with a spark in his eye.

"Oh, Gavroche," Éponine cried as soon as he was close enough to hear her. She held back the urge to hug him. He looked at her with a mix of trepidation and confusion. "Don't go running off like that! That was—" Éponine stopped herself before continuing, remembering Azelma's words. "Never mind," she said instead. "This is where you were this whole time, in that room?"

"After we left Courfeyrac's flat, yes."

Éponine looked up at Courfeyrac, who hadn't said anything yet. "Why exactly was he here in the first place?" She made sure to keep her voice level and without accusation, trying to mold it into innocent curiosity, but she feared her wording still gave away her position.

"He looked like he could have used a night of difference," Courfeyrac said.

"Oh. Well, all right then. I would just have liked it if you had gotten in contact with me about it first. I _am_ his guardian," Éponine said pointedly and then immediately winced inwardly at her usage of the critical tone.

"I know, and I'm sorry about that," Courfeyrac said. "I would have, but I didn't know your number. Now I do, though, so I definitely will."

"Well, no—You don't have to anymore," Éponine clarified. "If I know it's you." She hesitated, and then asked something that she'd been wondering. "Did you—did you still remember my name? You know—before I told it to you on the phone. When I said I was Gavroche's sister, did you know then?

"Of course," Courfeyrac said. "I thought, _Éponine_. Why would I forget?"

Éponine felt a rush of gratitude inside of her. He actually had known who she was. She shook her head. "No reason. It's just that—we've never spoken to each other than when we first met; I didn't think you'd bother to remember."

Courfeyrac grinned. "I always remember people's names."

They lapsed into a silence that Éponine feared would stretch to an uncomfortable length. She spoke quickly, with a glance at her brother. "Gavroche…if the meeting is still going on, you can stay."

Gavroche's turned to look at her so fast Éponine thought his neck cracked. "Really?"

Éponine nodded. "Go on. I can wait."

"That'd be great! But…" Courfeyrac paused. "I don't know how long the meeting will last, might be a little while. Why don't you come and listen in? No one will mind," Courfeyrac said.

"No, thank you. I'll wait out here until you're done." _Gavroche will like it better that way. He'll be way too uncomfortable to enjoy himself if I'm there._

Courfeyrac looked confused. "Well, if you want. Or you can go back to your place. I'll bring Gavroche back all in one piece, I promise."

Again, Éponine refused. "I'd prefer to stay here."

Courfeyrac frowned. "What about your sister, your two other brothers? Won't they wonder where you are?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Éponine saw Gavroche avert his gaze. "They'll be fine," Éponine said, assuming a nonchalant tone, even though it killed her. "They won't worry where I am. They never do." She gave a small smile as she spoke, but even so, Éponine saw Courfeyrac's expression change slightly into one of subtle sympathy and understanding. Éponine regretted with all her being that she'd ever thought ill of the young man.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of characterization in terms of most of the students, but I'm still deciding on how important they'll be to the story, other than...y'know. Enjolras. **

**Please review? Or not, whatever floats your boat. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Shameless plug before you read any of this chapter...I ****just finished writing a quick oneshot on how Joly and Musichetta first met each other, set in the same modern AU as this story. If you want to read it, it's called Blessing in Disguise.**

* * *

Ten minutes before four, Éponine was making her final rounds at the bookstore. She heaved a box of classics onto a table and began to sort through them when Musichetta burst into the backroom, looking worn out. Her face was red, her hair coming out of a compact bun, and other than a pair of sneakers, still wore her ballet things. Éponine stopped her work for a moment to examine her friend.

"What happened? You looked as though you just sprinted through the entire city!"

"Well—" Musichetta coughed. "Something like that. Madame Durand kept us at rehearsal longer than normal, so as soon as she let us go, I changed my shoes and ran to the Metro as fast as I could so I wouldn't be late."

"Why don't you get yourself a drink of water," Éponine suggested. "Go to the bathroom and change; I'll be done soon."

After seeing Musichetta's nod, Éponine took her box over to the shelf that was for books ready to be shelved. She swapped it with an armful of John Green that was to put out in front, which Éponine did promptly. She was quicker than her friend and went to the staff room to read her own book during the wait.

The blessed hour came not long after. Éponine watched slowly until the clock read four, at which time she stood. Musichetta opened the door of the staff room, dressed in pedestrian's clothes. "All right. I'm ready."

Éponine put her thing away and the pair of them left the bookstore. "How was work?" Musichetta asked.

Éponine shrugged. "The same. Fraure's been hinting we'll be getting a big shipment on Tuesday, but hasn't said much. How was class?"

"The same," Musichetta said, imitating Éponine. "Our next show isn't for a while, but Mme. Durand is already pushing us like it's opening day."

"Have you seen Cosette lately?" Éponine wondered casually. She didn't think Cosette would have revealed their last encounter, but Éponine wanted to make sure.

"Not since last week," Musichetta said. "Why, have you?"

"I just ran into her yesterday," Éponine said evasively. "She was on her way to Marius's, so we didn't chat long."

"Hm." Musichetta shrugged. "They spend an awful lot of time together. I heard it sorta makes Marius's friends impatient because he never hangs out with them. For school stuff, or whatever."

They lapsed into silence until they reached the Musain. Musichetta went to look for her coffee beans while Éponine ordered for both of them. She took their orders to her normal seat and took her book out again. Musichetta returned and flumped down into the chair across from Éponine and lifted her drink to her nose, inhaling deeply.

"Aah…just the way I like it. Thanks, 'Ponine."

Éponine spared her friend a brief glance. "No problem." And as she lowered her eyes to her page once more, she caught sight of that sight that was so familiar to her now. He was sitting on the other side of the shop from her, writing feverishly in a notebook. He didn't seem to be on the verge of looking up any time soon, so Éponine instead turned her attention away from him. Musichetta hadn't witnessed this; she was doodling a picture in the diary that she kept with her. (Musichetta was one of those girls who wrote daily diary entries that were pages long, filled with every little detail of every emotion she'd felt that day and pictures illustrating the events.)

Musichetta certainly was more knowledgeable on boys than she was, Éponine reflected. Could she maybe explain Éponine was so intrigued by this stranger? She already knew that _something_ had happened between them, since Éponine had told her, of course.

* * *

Enjolras had noticed her as she walked in with her friend. He vaguely recognized her friend; he thought that she was the girl going out with Joly. Talkative. Bubbly. Vivacious. He considered it strange that she seemed to be on such good terms with the other girl, who came off as introverted and pensive.

She took two cups to a seat and from the depths of her bag, pulled out a book. Enjolras could observe the cover of the book (light blue, with one white cloud and one black cloud on it) better than he could of the reader's face, but Enjolras had seen her enough times to sketch a vague portrait of her in his mind. He averted his gaze, not wanting to be caught staring.

"Ah-ha!" Brigitte slid into the seat across the table, startling Enjolras and ruffling the pages of his notebook. He looked up at the barista, annoyed.

"Brigitte. What a pleasure."

"Oh shut up," Brigitte snapped. "You told me that you had no interest in that girl, and look at you now. I might have to turn you in as a stalker."

Enjolras crossed his arms. "Really. If you do that, I might have to turn you in for slander."

"It's not slander if it's true," Brigitte sang.

"One person's assumption does not equal legitimacy," Enjolras said, bored.

Brigitte dropped the subject. "Why don't you go _talk_ to her, darling. That's the only way that you'll get to know her, not by staring at her from a distance. People will think you're a creep. Or you know. A stalker."

"I don't go talk to her because I don't _want_ to get to know her," Enjolras said flatly. "Why must you blow everything out of proportion?"

Brigitte scrunched up her face. "Ugh! You're so stupid!" She slammed her hands on the table, got up, and left. Enjolras's view of the shop was once again unobstructed. The girl, who had been blocked by Brigitte, had turned around at the commotion. They stared at each other.

Was it his imagination, or was she red?

No. Enjolras dropped his eyes first. It was the setting sun that did it, bathing the coffee shop in a fiery orange.

He cleared his throat and shut his notebook decisively. He tucked it under his arm and departed to his dorm room, thinking.

Combeferre was lying on his bed when he came in, reading a heavy textbook. "Hey. Good coffee?"

"It was…all right."

Combeferre raised his eyebrows from behind his book. Enjolras didn't hesitate when speaking, never. Combeferre propped himself up on his elbow and watched Enjolras as he sat at his desk and reviewed whatever he had written in that notebook of his.

Enjolras ran his hand over the page. He had only used up a little more than half of it. He normally got at least a full page or two. The Musain was turning into a distraction, he determined. He'd spent an hour there and accomplished nothing. Enjolras closed his eyes.

It wasn't the Musain. It was that girl. Outside of his school and work Les Amis, she was the only other constant. He saw other customers in the Musain every week, and then they were gone, to whatever their lives had to offer him. She wasn't gone; she stayed. How long had she been going there? Enjolras had been going every week for a year and a half now. And yet he was just taking notice of her now.

He certainly wasn't attracted to her. Of this Enjolras was sure of.

But he was curious.

That he couldn't deny…though Enjolras had an intuition that she felt the same. He had felt her eyes following him when he walked out of the Musain's door.

* * *

It was past midnight before Éponine began to feel remotely tired. She tossed and turned as quietly as she could on her bed, not wanting to wake anyone up. The ticking of her clock sounded as loud as a gong in the dead silence. She listened to it, willing for it to lull her to sleep.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. _

Éponine threw off the covers and sat straight up. She went to the window and moved one of the curtains aside, sitting on the sill so she felt like some confused character in novel or movie who was contemplating his or her future. There wasn't much she could do except sit there and think.

It was becoming too obvious now. Slowly but surely, he was worming his way into her life. Éponine wasn't sure if she liked it or not. All she knew that she couldn't keep ignoring it. But how to address it?

Éponine picked her way back to her bed and pulled her blanket over her once more. She rolled over onto her side to face the wall and was still. It was pitch black in the room, so even when she closed her eyes there was no difference, but Éponine did anyway. She was still.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. _

_Tick. Tick. _

_Tick…_

* * *

**A/N: ****Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter...twelve?! I have no idea why that chapter got so much feedback, but thank you anyway. **


	9. Chapter 9

"Monsieur, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor."

"Monsieur, do you think it would be possible…"

"Monsieur, would you be willing to…_rrgh!_"

Éponine was looking into the mirror, deciding what she would say to Fraure when she asked if she could take the three to four o'clock hour off during her shift. She figured this was the time that she had the highest chance of running into him.

It was unlikely that he would allow it. Not because he simply didn't want to. Logistically, it couldn't be done. There were no other employees Fraure could bring in to fill Éponine's shift. There was also the fact that it was Éponine herself who had insisted on having an all-day work schedule in the first place. Fraure wouldn't be pleased to know that she was changing her mind (she wasn't exactly, but Éponine was sure that was how Fraure would see it), and even less pleased if he though that she was getting bored, or worse, lazy. That would just lead to her outright dismissal, and if that happened, Éponine didn't know what she would do.

Was it worth losing part of her paycheck just to investigate this young man anyway? Éponine tried to think of a reason as to why she should allow herself this. It wasn't as if she and others were living in poverty, she reasoned after a few moments. By working full time every day and sticking to simple meals, they were able to squeak by. Surely it wouldn't hurt if she herself just this one little cut.

That cut sure was risky, though…

Éponine splashed some water on her face and wiped it dry. Maybe she would need some inspiration with this one.

The apartment was still quiet when she was finally ready to leave. It was Sunday, so that meant her siblings would probably be sleeping until noon, long after she had already arrived at The Idle Hour. Éponine wondered if they were actually sleeping or were just staying holed up in their rooms to avoid her.

Ever since her row with Azelma, Éponine had started to go down a different track of trying to repair her relationship with her sister and brothers. Instead of forcing interaction, Éponine left them alone as much as she could. It seemed completely counterintuitive to what she was trying to accomplish, but talking to them seemed to drive them away from her. They obviously found it uncomfortable, so Éponine figured that if she didn't bother them for long enough, they'd eventually come around. Then she would start to make the baby steps of conversation.

The only trouble was that she didn't know how long that would take. From the way things were going, they wouldn't be opening up any time soon.

* * *

"Musichetta, I need your help," Éponine said as they struggled to open up a large, heavily duct-taped cardboard box.

"Yeah?" Musichetta peeled down a length of tape from the side of the box. "What's up?"

"Well—I need to find a way to break it to Fruare that I need a break during my shift. Only an hour or so, for maybe a few weeks."

Musichetta stopped what she was doing and eyed Éponine suspiciously. "What are you up to?" she asked slowly. "It's not like you to skimp on work."

Éponine rolled her eyes. "It's not skimping, per se," she said. "I just need to take care of something. It's been on my mind for a while."

"You're speaking very cryptically," Musichetta noted. "Is this something I should know about?"

"Not really," Éponine said. "Do you have any ideas?"

Musichetta sat back on her heels. "Tell him you'll work double-time the next day."

"I'm already working the full day."

"Oh yeah." Musichetta frowned. "Well, he's obviously not going to let you unless he gets someone to take over for you. So I guess first we need to get him to consider hiring more people?"

"But he doesn't need more people, that's the thing."

"You'll just need to tell him straight up, then, I suppose," Musichetta said, which Éponine thought didn't solve the problem at all.

Musichetta saw the doubt on Éponine's face. "Okay, okay…uh…tell him this, tell him, 'Monsiuer, I need you to let me end my shift earlier, but don't worry about getting behind. I've got someone who's willing to take my place.' Then you just need to find someone looking for work."

"That might work," Éponine conceded. "But—who would be my replacement?"

The girls carried their opened box out into the front and handed it to another pair of workers, who whisked away to put the contents out for sale. Éponine and Musichetta returned to tackle another.

"…Cosette?" Musichetta suggested tentatively after a long time.

Éponine raised an eyebrow. "She needs a job?"

"Well—no," Musichetta admitted. "But I don't think she would mind having one. Who doesn't want a little extra money?"

"Eh…" Éponine wavered. "She has school, though. She might not have time."

"I have school too," Musichetta said. "I still manage to work a few hours a week. Cosette probably can too."

Éponine still had her doubts. "Would she want to? I mean…Cosette and I aren't exactly best friends. And this is a big commitment, even if it is temporary."

"Come on," Musichetta said. "Cosette's practically a saint. You guys might not be super close, but she still considers you a friend; I know she does. She won't mind, if it helps you out for a little while."

Éponine stayed silent, skeptical. "Come on," Musichetta said. "She likes you; she'll do it. Believe me that she will?"

Optimism was starting to fill Éponine, but there was still Cosette who needed confirmation. Éponine said, carefully, "If you're sure she'll at least consider it, then…that'll work. Give me her number, and I'll call her at lunch."

And she did. The call was surprisingly brief. Cosette seemed confused, but willing. It was arranged for Cosette to come down right before closing time. Éponine would tell Fraure what she wanted to do, and if all went to plan, Fraure would give his consent after an interview of Cosette right then and there.

* * *

Éponine left work that day feeling completely elated. From this week onward, she would be having a break Friday afternoons.

She could hardly believe how smoothly things had gone. Fruare, for some reason, had looked at Cosette and seemed to think she would be a suitable employee. Perhaps it was her charming demeanor, or the earnestness in her voice, but he was so impressed he didn't even seem to be angry or disappointed with Éponine, even when she assured him that this wouldn't be for long, a few months at the most, and then she would be back to her expected work hours. "Take your break!" he exclaimed to her. "We'll be in good hands!"

Her first Friday break came like lightning. But when the hour came, Éponine took her bag and headed off to the Musain.

She tried not to make it obvious that she was looking for someone. As she stood in line, she scanned the room without moving her head. Éponine, after a preliminary search and not locating him, lowered her head a little so her hair blocked her face. If he was here, Éponine wasn't sure if he wanted _him_ to notice _her_. She wanted this to be on her terms.

On her way to her seat, though, she did finally see him. He sat in the corner, his side facing him. But he wasn't alone this time. Two others were with him, both of them looking like they were the same age as him. One of them had a high forehead and blonde hair that seemed almost floppy in appearance. The other had a mess of black curls and looked rather hungover. (Already? It was only the afternoon.)

Busy in examining the companions, Éponine didn't realize that she had been looking in their direction for some while now. The blonde friend had leaned over and said something to the stranger. He turned and caught sight of her. He frowned a little, as if confused to see her. Éponine smiled at him, or at least tried to. It was the first time she had ever done anything but look at him, she later realized with some embarrassment. The young man looked at her for a moment, acknowledged her with a small nod, and then broke his gaze. Éponine continued in her own.

The blonde friend was talking to the stranger now. The stranger shook his head, and the blonde friend leaned back in his seat, smirking. He was obviously amused, but why? What had they spoken about? The man with black hair said something, and the stranger glared at him. The black haired man shrugged and looked out of the window.

Éponine stayed as long as she could. No one approached her, but she didn't think she'd been really expecting the stranger to come over anyway. What a strange relationship was occurring. They'd seen each and been in each other's presence for several times now. They should have known each other's names, hobbies, ages…Any other person would have at the very least introduced herself by now, but Éponine couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet, anyway.

* * *

**A/N: I know you're all clamoring for some more interaction...please be patient! I can't place the exact chapter it will be, but it will be soon.**

**Oh, and if I didn't get around to replying to your review, I'm sorry! Thank you for all your feedback, though, especially to the anons that I can't reply to! You're all so kind and supportive, makes me really happy :)**


	10. Chapter 10

On Monday after he had eaten, Enjolras went to the Musain. He'd had class until late afternoon, so it wasn't until around six in the evening that he had a chance to get off campus.

He sat in the quiet Musain for an hour, drinking his coffee slowly. He brought his notebook, but didn't add to it much. At one point, he found himself drawing a sketch of his table in the margins. Enjolras sat straight up, confused. Doodling wasn't like him. Wasting no time, he erased the drawing and laid his notebook aside. He turned to his book instead.

By the time closing time rolled by, the girl hadn't showed up. Enjolras collected his things and returned to his dorm, a strange feeling inside of him.

Combeferre had noticed his absence, of course, but didn't bring if up when he greeted Enjolras. He was curious, though, Enjolras knew.

* * *

During Les Amis's next meeting on Friday, Enjolras did a quick scan of to who was there. It was the day they would begin their food drive, so he expected no one to be missing. The young boy Gavroche had shown up with Courfeyrac again, dragging along a box, just as he'd promised. Enjolras was pleasantly surprised that he'd actually kept his word. It was always good to have a new addition to the group, even if he was as young as Gavroche was.

They all went to the Metro together and spent the first ride in the same carriage. Enjolras and the rest all stood, leaving the seats for those who needed them. In the tightly compacted carriage, Enjolras overheard Marius speaking.

"...Cosette's job. She's helping a friend out, I think. She didn't tell me everything. Girl stuff, I suppose. But I think the one she's helping out wanted to have some more time off. Go to the Musain more often."

"My sister likes to go there," Gavroche piped up. "And she's Cosette's friend too."

Courfeyrac looked amused. "Your sister seems pretty busy most of the time," he said. "When does she have time to put her feet up?"

Gavroche hesitated. "I dunno," he replied confusedly. "Usually Saturday afternoon. I think her boss lets her off early that day. She's trying to get more time off, though. Maybe on Fridays."

All of the boys exchanged glances. Enjolras turned away from the conversation and looked out of the window.

Interesting.

* * *

Éponine was on her way back to her flat. This week had not proved to be as fruitful as the last, unfortunately.

She had to go about this strategically. He was obviously a student, so he wouldn't be there at any time during the school day. Mornings? Maybe, but unlikely since it was out of his way. Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays would be the most convenient day. But at what time?

Éponine knew the real clear thing to do was just find out his name. Once they were introduced, she could talk to him all she wanted him without any problems whatsoever.

It was all easier said than done, though. Éponine was sure that randomly approaching strangers, striking up interesting small talk, and appearing likeable were three things that she had absolutely no confidence in, and she didn't have the courage to start trying them out anyway.

Damn her social anxiety.

Upon arriving home, she called up Musichetta.

"Hello?"

"You're out of breath again," Éponine said. "Why do you always sound so exhausted whenever I talk to you? You're working too much."

"Speak for yourself!" came the reply. "Don't worry about me. I just ran a mile; I'm going to take a shower."

"Oh. Okay, I'll tell you tomorrow, then."

"No, no, I can wait," Musichetta brushed off. "What's up?"

"Remember that time when I mentioned that I'd seen that guy at the Musain?"

"Yeah."

"Well...I need help figuring out his name."

Silence. Éponine looked at the phone. "Musichetta? Are you there?"

"I am. Just wondering where this came from." Éponine could hear the smirk.

"Curiosity," Éponine admitted. "I can't stand it anymore."

"All right," Musichetta said. "So what do I need to do?"

"I'm going to be going to the Musain tomorrow, like always. Do you have space in your schedule to come with?"

There was the sound of flipping paper. "Yes, I can make it."

"You might recognize him. If you do...well..."

Musichetta laughed into the phone. "Oh 'Ponine, you're so cute. Do you need me to introduce you?"

"Something of like," Éponine said, embarrassed, but grateful that Musichetta seemed up for the job.

"I can do that," her friend said. "Is that it?"

"Yeah. Thanks a lot," Éponine said.

"No problem," Musichetta said. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

"Tomorrow" turned out much earlier than Éponine was expecting. At seven, there was a rapid knocking at the door. Éponine had just woken up and was brushing her teeth. She stuck her head into the hall towards the door and stared.

The knocking continued. Éponine spit, rinsed and wiped her mouth, and went to the door. When she peered through the hole, she saw Musichetta.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" Éponine asked.

Musichetta walked in and shut the door. "You'll be meeting someone new today, and a young man at that," Musichetta said briskly. "I wanted to make sure you looked—" Musichetta surveyed Éponine up and down. "Not exactly like this."

Self-conscious, Éponine plucked at her outfit. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," Musichetta said. "But it doesn't do much to flatter you either."

Éponine sighed. She should have expected something like this. Musichetta put her bag on the kitchen table and started for Éponine's room.

"Wait," Éponine said, grabbing Musichetta's wrist. "Azelma's still sleeping. She and the boys don't get up until late on the weekends."

"Get me every single piece of clothing that you think is nice. Shirts, skirts, pants, blouses, everything you have."

Éponine did as she was told. It was still dark in her room, the curtains pulled tightly shut. She rummaged around in her closet, throwing items of clothing onto the bed. It was a sorry pile when it was all said and done, but it couldn't be helped. When she had first moved into the apartment, Éponine had sold a good deal of the clothes she'd had when she was younger to help with the rent, but had kept what she loved best. There was more than she remembered, but compared to how much she'd had when she still lived with her parents, it was just a fraction. With some trepidation, Éponine gathered up the bunch and took it out to Musichetta.

Musichetta sorted through the lot, methodically picking out certain articles and laying them aside, discarding others. Éponine watched with some wonder as complete outfits were slowly pieced together. She had no eye for fashion, but Musichetta seemed to know how to put something together that was decent, which prints and patterns and colors went well together.

"There!" Satisfied, Musichetta stepped back. "Which do you like best?"

Three had eventually been determined. Éponine chose the one that she felt she would be the least awkward in, that is to say, the least dressed up. It was simply a red and white striped shirt layered over a white tank top, paired with a pair of dark jeans. The sleeves came down to the elbow and had ribbons sewed onto the ends, which is the reason Éponine suspected that Musichetta had bothered with it at all.

Putting it on, though, made Éponine have second thoughts.

"Are you sure about this?" Éponine asked worriedly, coming out from the bathroom to face Musichetta. "Don't I look a bit strange?"

"No! Of course not!" Musichetta jumped up. "You're just not used to wearing it, that's all. Trust me, you look wonderful."

Éponine examined her shirtsleeve. "Well, I guess. You know better than I do. I suppose I'll get used to it, like you said. Is this all you came here to do, to give me a little wardrobe makeover?"

Musichetta looked her over. "Maybe I should do something with your hair. Do you want to?" It was in its normal state of plain brown waves. "You look fine as is."

"Nah," Éponine said. "If it's all right, let's just keep it this way."

"Okay. If you change your mind, I can always fix you up right before we leave work," Musichetta said.

"I'll keep that in mind," Éponine said dryly. "Let's go."

* * *

**A/N: If you want a picture of what Eponine is wearing, I don't have that but i do have a video. Just go to my ****profile and it's right there under the "Links for Stories" cut. You'll probably want to take a peek, because I'm really horrible at describing clothing. **

**My pen name has changed, if you haven't noticed. **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: So here's the chapter everyone's been waiting for...haha I think some people are going to be disappointed, to be honest. **

* * *

A half a block away from the Musain, Éponine stopped. "Wait. I—I don't think I want to do this."

Musichetta, who had been striding purposefully forward, faced Éponine, hands on her hips. "Why? What's gotten into you? You were all for it yesterday, and now every time I look at you, you look like you're dreading it."

"Maybe we should do it a different day," Éponine suggested. "When I'm more up for it."

"You _are_ up for it, and you're up for it right _now_," Musichetta said sternly. "The only thing holding you back is your hesitation. All you need to do is keep going, and then you won't have time to have doubts."

Éponine could see her friend would not be dissuaded. _Just as well_, Éponine admitted to herself. Nothing could be achieved by putting it off. "All right," Éponine said, and they started walking again. "But we're taking this my pace. Don't go doing anything right when we get in."

"I know," Musichtta. "But you do need some pushing some times, 'Ponine. Go on!" She gave Éponine a tiny nudge through the Musain door. "I'll order. You just sit down. Find out if he's here."

Éponine scanned the room. With a slight feeling of plummeting, she spotted him. There was no turning back now. This was it. From her on out, everything would (hopefully) fall into place and Éponine would just have to go with it without making a fool of herself. Even though she had been wondering how long it would take until it actually happened, now that it was here, it was a daunting prospect.

She positioned herself carefully so he could only see her profile, and not even that if her hair was in the right place. Éponine gave another quick glance over to him, coming away with a twinge of annoyance. He was writing feverishly in that stupid notebook of his and hadn't noticed her.

_Stop_. Éponine considered herself. Had she really just felt jealous of a notebook?

Maybe she did want to go with this after all.

Musichetta hurried over. "Well? Where is he?"

Éponine took a drink of her mocha. "The table nearest to the blackboard."

Musichetta craned her neck to locate him. Her mouth fell open at the sight of him, her eyes wide. She dropped quickly back into her seat.

"What?" Éponine wondered, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"I know him."

"You know him!?" Éponine repeated in a shocked whisper.

"I know him," Musichetta said again. "If I had known that it was him that you saw—"

"Well—how?" Éponine hoped Musichetta wouldn't say what she was fearing.

"He's a sorta friend."

"Stop being so vague!" Éponine said, panicked. "What kind of friend?"

Musichetta waved a hand. "He's...uh..." She trailed off, trying to catch another glimpse of him from her seated position.

"He's what?"

"Oh! He's a friend of Valère's."

Éponine sighed in relief. "Mon dieu, you scared me! I thought he was some ex-boyfriend or something," she mumbled.

Musichetta laughed nervously. "That would make things awkward, certainly. No, he's not that. I don't think Alex has ever gone out with any girl, come to think of it. Just spends all his time working."

"Alex? That's his name?" Éponine asked cautiously.

"Alexandre," Musichetta corrected her. "He's a sort of weirdly formal and old-fashioned." At Éponine's questioning look, she elaborated, "I'm supposed to call him Enjolras, but...it sounds so distant, you know?"

"Maybe he doesn't like being intimate with a lot of people. You seem to not be that good friends with him, anyway."

"Well I am a little bit, I guess," Musichetta said. "I override what I said a minute ago. I know that he's the leader of a club Valère's in, so whenever I go to see Valère after the meetings, I bump into him and we talk a little."

They had been speaking in hushed tones the entire time. The Musain was emptier at this time, loud voices easier to carry through the shop.

"Well? You know about him now," Musichetta said. "It'll just be creepy if he doesn't know anything about you. Best if we go and do what we came to do, wouldn't you say?"

Éponine made a face. "You lead."

Musichetta stood up and brushed herself down. She gestured for Éponine to get up as well and began to walk towards Enjolras. (How strange it was to match a face with a name now, after so many weeks of not knowing!) Éponine followed, feeling as though she had just walked off a cliff. She could only keep going from here.

Enjolras was still bent over his notebook, making it convenient for Musichetta to make a roundabout around his table, until she stood behind Enjolras. He was oblivious to their presence, totally immersed in his work. Éponine stood next to Musichetta, her heart beating so hard she thought it would break right through her body. Any second now.

Musichetta reached out with one finger and tapped Enjolras on the shoulder. He turned around, his frown turning into one of recognition. Éponine couldn't help wondering if it was just Musichetta he remembered, or if he recollected her too.

"Musichetta. What a surprise. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you, Monsieur," Musichetta replied smoothly. "I trust you are also?"

"Yes." This one word was all that he said before his gaze slid to Éponine. It was brief, but Musichetta's sharp eyes didn't miss anything.

Without preamble, she said, "This is Éponine Thenardier. She works with me at The Idle Hour."

"Enchanté, mademoiselle," Enjolras said, nodding slightly.

"Why don't we sit down?" Musichetta suggested, and basically pulled Éponine down with her opposite of Enjolras. Looking as though he expected conversation, he pointedly laid aside his notebook and gave them his full attention. Éponine was directly across from him. She was closer to him than she had ever been, of which Éponine was very aware.

_Oh crap. Now I'll have to say something,_ Éponine realized. Were they waiting for her to start? Éponine could already deduce that Enjolras wasn't the talkative type, but she didn't know how to even begin. Musichetta, Éponine suddenly then recalled, had more than enough chatter for all of three of them. Éponine was relieved when she took the initiative.

"So how's school, Alex?" Musichetta questioned. "Valère tells me that you hardly ever sleep now, what with school and Les Amis and all that."

"It is my safe bet, Musichetta, that what Joly is telling you is what _he_ believes is an inadequate amount of rest. I can assure you that I am sleeping. Just several hours less than he is."

Musichetta gave Éponine a half glance. Was this an indication that she should try to add to the conversation? A clean, risk-free opportunity had just presented itself, after all. Éponine assumed so.

"Where do you go to school?" she asked.

Enjolras regarded her with faint interest. Éponine looked back steadfastly, waiting for an answer. "Normale," he said at last. "It's my second year, studying law."

Éponine was slowly assembling a profile. He didn't say much, attended one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and more than a little reserved. Probably the most put-together person in the city, judging from how he spoke and held himself. She'd managed to gather that much with the few short lines of conversation that had been exchanged. If she had ever felt inadequate before…

"So what were you so eager to jot down in that notebook?" Musichetta wondered.

"Notes for Les Amis," he said. "It's a club I lead," Enjolras added to Éponine.

"What's it a club for?" she asked.

"Helping those who need it," Enjolras said. "We raise money and donate it to charities, have drives every year for food, clothing, books, whatever someone might need. Musichetta's friend Joly's in it, maybe she's told you?"

"Uh, I can't remember," Éponine said stupidly.

"Oh, that reminds me. Marius told me to give this to Joly, but I never see him around campus, and I don't want it to wait, since it seems pretty important." Enjolras reached into his bag and handed a packet of papers over.

"Marius Pontmercy?" Éponine said. "You know him?"

"He's in the same class as I am," Enjolras said. "Why?"

Next to her, Éponine felt Musichetta turn to examine her. "He's a friend of mine as well. He's…uh…he's a nice guy."

"Yes," Enjolras agreed. "Although he could stand to keep his priorities straight."

"What do you mean by that?" Musichetta asked.

"The man is so head-over-heels in love he forgets his commitments sometimes is all," Enjolras said. "It can be detrimental when it builds up, and I regret to say that it happens more often that I would prefer."

_Maybe that's why he's never had a girlfriend_, Éponine thought. _He obviously thinks there are more important things._

Musichetta was laughing. "Come on, Alexandre. Surely if you were in as love with a girl as Marius is, you'd want some time to be with her."

"Perhaps," Enjolras conceded. "Though I would be sure to make sure I wasn't being dominated by the relationship either, which I find sometimes to be the case with our friend Marius."

Éponine found herself keeping quiet, which surprised her. The criticism wasn't annoying her, nor was it making her upset. She could even see why it might be justified, why it would understandably be irksome to Enjolras. This was a change. She was sure she still felt as strongly about Marius as she always had…but if she did, she would have surely leapt to his defense by now, instead of not saying anything. Perhaps she didn't love him as much as she'd previously thought.

But the even bigger revelation was that she wasn't saddened by it. A release was coming. Not yet, because despite the possibility that Éponine wasn't as strongly in love any more, she still was, to a certain extent. But when it did finally arrive, Éponine couldn't help thinking that it would be one of the most liberating moments of her life. When that day came, she wasn't sure. It was impossible for Éponine, or anyone for that matter, to just spontaneously decide that she wasn't going to love someone anymore.

Strange. She was hoping for the day when her love would end.

* * *

**A/N: Well, that's it. Sorry for dropping the whole Marius deal without much development...but she's had her mind filled with Enjolras, so I guess it would be a sort of natural reaction for her to start falling out of love with Marius, since she's been more and more preoccupied with Enjolras. **

**Please review! **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry no update. Just got busy with school, but last day is on the eighteenth, so I'll have time to write more.**

* * *

"Well, I think that went rather well, don't you think?" Musichetta said happily as the girls strolled down the street. "He seems to like you."

"I dunno," Éponine said doubtfully. "He hardly talked to me personally at all."

"He was just a little nervous," Musichetta scoffed. "You're looking very pretty, you know."

These sorts of compliments always made Éponine uncomfortable, especially when they came from people like Musichetta or Cosette. People who were just so good, Éponine couldn't tell whether they were being genuine or were saying it to be nice.

"Regardless, I don't have any way of getting back in contact with him," Éponine said matter-of-factly, like that settled the conversation, "and neither does he. So either way, we don't have anyway of meeting."

"Of course you do!" Musichetta exclaimed. "Marius is a mutual friend; you can ask him."

"I don't think I should bother him," Éponine said. "Besides," she went on, ignoring the beginnings of Musichetta's protests, "I don't really have any need to see Enjolras again. All I wanted to know was who he is, and now I do. So that's that."

"B—" Musichetta started, and then stopped. She didn't seem to be able to express herself, only making small gestures of frustration with her hands. Instead, she stopped suddenly and pulled out her diary and pen from bag. Musichetta held the diary against a building the two were next to, flipped to the newest page, and tore into the sheet with her page. Nothing was written; it was solely a random scribble all over the page, one long line curling and crossing and zig-zagging. Musichetta went at if for a good half a minute before writing in another color over top the scribble, "Reaction after Éponine says she doesn't want to see Enjolras again." She turned around and stowed her things away. "Shall we?"

Musichetta began her brisk walk once again.

* * *

In her apartment, Éponine lay with her face in a pillow. Her encounter with Enjolras had been mostly what she expected to be. In fact, she rather felt that it had gone quite smoothly, what with Musichetta there to keep things going.

Although she most likely wouldn't be there the next time...

"Doesn't matter," Éponine said firmly to herself. "I already told her I wouldn't be bothering to talk to him again."

"Why are you talking to no one?" Azelma asked suddenly.

Éponine sat upright, startled. "Azelma! I didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously. You didn't answer my question."

_Always with that same tone, _Éponine thought. Her words implied interest, but she could stand to modulate her voice to sound more sincere. "Just thinking aloud. It's nothing."

Azelma raised her eyebrows. "Fine." She closed the door as she flopped onto her bed and hid her face behind a book, leaving Éponine staring at the cover.

Éponine wasn't sure she had just deliberately put down a chance for conversation, one, furthermore, that had been her sister a initiation.

At least there was some progress being made, Éponine thought. She wondered where it had come from. Perhaps her strategy of keeping her distance was working after all.

Dinner seemed to support this theory. Éponine sat at one of the heads with a book as per usual. On the days when there was no excuse for not eating with her siblings (those days being the weekends and any holidays that let her off from work for the day), she just read and sat as far away from the others as the table would allow, letting Azemla and the boys have their own conversation. They were about ten minutes into the meal, when Éponine suddenly heard something of interest. It was Théo who spoke.

"What's that? That's not yours, 'Zelma." He was pointing at a lavender scarf that was hanging off the couch.

Azelma left her seat and picked the scarf up, examining it. "Nope. Éponine, did you buy this?"

Éponine joined her sister and took the piece of fabric. "I think it's Musichetta's," she said slowly.

"Who?" Laurier wondered.

"My friend," Éponine informed him, stuffing the scarf into her bag. "She was here this morning."

Azelma frowned and looked at her. "What for?"

Éponine didn't feel like revealing the actual reason. To stall while she thought of a reason, she took a long drink of water. "She left something at work a few days ago, so I brought it here. She was picking it up."

"And then she forgets her scarf," Azelma said derisively.

"She's got a lot to do everyday," Éponine defended her friend, a little angrily. "It's not her fault."

Axelma said nothing. She stared down at her plate, stabbing her carrots into an orange mash. The talk seemingly over, Éponine returned to her book.

_It's a start_, she thought later that night as she washed the dishes. Her siblings had once again retreated to their respective rooms. The boys were unusually hyper that evening. While Éponine stood at the sink, she could hear them rolling and wrestling in their room. Light but solid _thumps_ periodically interrupted the stillness of the apartment; their shrieks heard every few minutes. If they didn't shut up soon, they were sure to wake up the whole complex.

No sooner had Éponine dried her hands and placed the last cup in the rack to dry, there was a furious knocking at the door. Éponine threw the towel onto the table and hurried to open it, expecting the surly face of one of her fellow tenants.

To her relief, it was a friendly face. Or at least, a friend's face. Courfeyrac was there, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. "Courfeyrac! It's the noise, isn't it? _Je suis tellement désolée_," Éponine apologized. "My brothers are playing; I'll tell them to calm down."

Courfeyac smiled. "_Merci._" He turned to leave, and then Éponine suddenly remembered something.

"You go to École Normale Supérieure, don't you?" she asked.

Courfeyrac paused. "That's right. Why?"

"Uh—I just wondered," Éponine said shortly. "I mean I saw it on a piece of paper and remembered that one time when you took Gavroche with you to one of your club meetings, or whatever—"

"Oh, you mean the Friends of the ABC? I guess you saw one of our notices, huh?"

"Yeah, I was just curious," Éponine said. "Sorry for the noise again."

So Courfeyrac was a part of that club Enjolras was running. Which meant that they both knew each other.

* * *

Enjolras was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Combeferre was out, having some sort of conference with a professor, or something of the like. Enjolras had forgot.

He rolled over and felt a light bundle in his pocket. Enjolras took out a crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it out. An almost undecipherable scrawl was revealed. There was no signature at the bottom, but Enjolras could recall that Grantaire had delivered it to him, for God knows what reason. Probably details about yesterday's _Les Amis_ meeting.

Thinking about it annoyed Enjolras. Grantaire scoffed at every fundraiser, every drive, every event that _Les Amis_ held, yet took it upon himself to be at each meeting and take minutes of what happened…even though Combeferre took and managed minutes that were flawless—there was no need for some tag-along secretary. Frankly, Enjolras thought him a nuisance.

He glanced back at the piece of paper, unable to even make out the first sentence. Enjolras wadded it back up again and lobbed it into the recycling. Then he sat up in bed and swung his legs over to touch the floor. He sat like that, his head in his hands, like he was nursing a headache. Then he stood up.

Enjolras sat at his desk, tapping a pen on his notebook. It was opened to the newest page. After several moments, he took up the pen and wrote the date neatly in the upper right-hand corner. He hesitated for a second longer, and then began to write:

_Surprise visit by Musichetta today at the Musain. She brought that other girl that I've been seeing so often with her. The girl's name is Éponine Thenardier. She doesn't talk much (a stark contrast to Musichetta) but she told me that she knows Marius. From where, I don't have the faintest idea. _

Then, in a second notebook for his club duties:

_- Day 2 of food drive, no food yet_

_- Members should be finished with notices around city_

_- Will be starting with campus on Monday _

_- Combeferre to write about in newspaper_

* * *

**Translation - **

**___Je suis tellement désolée. _/ I am so sorry.**


	13. Chapter 13

"Here," Éponine said when she went into work on Sunday. "You left this yesterday."

Musichetta looked at the scarf draped over her shoulder. "Oh, like you left this." She reached into her pocket and handed over a scrap of paper. Éponine looked at it.

"A piece of trash?"

Musichetta rolled her eyes. "It's Alexandre's number. I have it in my contacts, so I thought you might as well too."

"Thank you for your consideration," Éponine said, "but I have no need for it. Remember? I told you I wasn't going to actively go out and schedule meet ups or anything like that. Besides, isn't it sorta creepy-stalkerish if I have his number and he doesn't have mine?"

Musichetta looked disappointed. "You're saying you have no interest—"

Fraure came storming out of his office. "Do you have something else you should be doing right now?"

"Ah_, _oui, monsieur," Éponine said quickly. Giving her friend a significant look, Éponine pushed Musichetta towards the stock room.

"Don't worry about me," Éponine said as they started to sort. "Don't you have more important things to be thinking about anyway? I'm sure you've got enough on your plate with school."

"Oh, right!" Musichetta exclaimed. "I have a recital coming up. It's not for another two months, but you should come see it."

"I'd love to," Éponine said, "but there's no way I could afford a ticket, you know that."

"I'll try to see if I can get you one," Musichetta said. "Or two," she added.

Éponine didn't need to ask why she'd amended her statement.

Friday was an anxious day for Éponine. She had made no plans not to adhere to her normal schedule, but the thought of possibly seeing Enjolras for a second time was daunting, even more so when Éponine knew she wouldn't have Musichetta to fall back on for support.

Nevertheless, at four o'clock, Éponine found herself on the road heading for the Musain. How socially awkward must a girl be if she thinks up lists of things to talk about with young men who are practically strangers? Éponine thought while she thought of lists to talk about should she run into Enjolras.

The bell on the door tinkled and she walked in. Éponine looked over to where she had sat the previous week and saw a blonde head bent over a notebook. And suddenly—she found herself walking towards him.

_No. Stop. What are you doing? You said you weren't going to talk to him again. Stop. STOP. ST—_

"B—" Éponine caught herself, but her botched greeting was enough to draw his attention. He glanced up at her. The expression on his face was one of definite recollection, not one like it had been last time, when Éponine wasn't sure if he remembered her.

"Bonjour," Enjolras said.

_Damn. Damn damn damn. _Now she was stuck.

"Ah, oui," Éponine said. "Bonjour. Comment allez-vous?"

"Bien, merci," Énjolras said. Was it just her, or was there some uncertainty in his face? Behind her back, Éponine fiddled around with her fingers before quickly speaking again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted you. I'm sure you're very busy."

"No," Enjolras said, somewhat slowly. "That's all right. I could use a break." Some dithering on his part (a manner probably not his, Éponine speculated), and then, "Would you like to sit?"

This was all seeming much too fast for Éponine. She had just gotten his name a week ago. _It's not a date_, she thought to herself sternly. The violent urge that she'd been hopelessly suppressing was rising. She slowly sat across from him, like she had done before. "You're sure this isn't a bother?" she questioned.

"Not a problem," Enjolras said casually. "My roommate says I work too much anyway. Perhaps he's right." He clicked a pen several times and then put it down. His hands folded in front of each other carefully on the tabletop.

They had been conversing for only a moment, but with every second, Éponine was growing more and more uncomfortable. Why on earth had she approached him again? Her list of conversation topics was clean from her mind. (From a certain point of view, this might have been a blessing. But Éponine wasn't sure that the agonizing silence was preferable either.) Any other usual conversation starters Éponine usually would have initiated with a friend like Musichetta (them being "How are you" and "What's up") seemed strangely too intimate, at least for the very first greetings. She searched quickly for something that was less familiar, settling upon "Fancy seeing you again."

Enjolras seemed vaguely surprised at her having made the first move. "Yes. Fancy. Do you come here often?"

Pleased that she had a hook to continue off of, Éponine nodded. "Every Friday at 4:15."

There was a light of interest in Enjolras's eyes as he regarded her. "Hm. So do I. I don't arrive as late as you, though. But close enough." He spoke slowly, deliberately.

Éponine allowed herself a small smile. She would have loved to ask what time exactly, but she wouldn't dare. "You have time to get away from your schoolwork? Maybe I've gotten the wrong impression, but what I've gathered from Musichetta is that you study all the time."

"It's not so much as getting away from school as it is getting away from my friends. Some of them can be quite...gregarious," Enjolras said. "One can only stand being in their company for a limited amount of time, you understand." His voice was only half serious, though.

"I see."

"Et vous?"

Éponine assumed he was wondering how she got time off for her own coffee runs. Perhaps he sensed that she didn't go to school, like the majority of all people their age, because he didn't add anything else to his quest. Éponine picked up on the subtle touch of tact and was grateful.

"My employer lets me off early," she said. "I work consistently for the rest of the week, so he doesn't mind."

Enjolras nodded. "And you enjoy your work?"

"I suppose," Éponine said. "It's tough, but there are worse options."

"Indeed."

They fell into silence again. Enjolras checked his watch and cleared his throat. "Well, I should be getting back to the college."

"Oh! Of course," Éponine said. "I'm sorry for keeping you."

Enjolras waved a hand. "It wasn't a hassle," he assured her. He picked up his notebook and stowed it into his bag. "I rather enjoyed it, actually. Maybe I will run into you again."

"Maybe you will." Then, feeling exceedingly bold, Éponine added, "I look forward to it."

The young man's face seemed to flicker briefly when she said it. Éponine felt ill. She seemed to be just digging herself deeper and deeper.

"As do I."

The illness vanished as she registered what he'd said. The two surveyed each other, Éponine still sitting and Enjolras standing next to the table. They studied each other intently for a moment, not with attraction, not with wonder, but rather curiosity. Éponine suddenly wanted to know him. Know him as a person, not as some intensely beautiful statue to ogle at, as she had been treating him for the last few weeks.

Enjolras cleared his throat again and averted his gaze. "I should be going."

Éponine blinked. "Right. You should be. Good bye."

"Good bye." Enjolras gave her another one of his slight nods and smartly left the cafe.

As soon as he was gone, Éponine put her head down on the table.

_What the hell am I doing?_ They had spoken for all of ten minutes, if that. And yet she still felt like a complete fool.

* * *

"Hey." Combeferre was sprawled on his bed with a heavy textbook open in front of him when Enjolras came in.

"Bonsoir." Enjolras spared his roommate the briefest glance before he laid aside his bag and sat down at his desk.

Combeferre propped himself on his elbow and squinted at Enjolras's back. "You're back a little late. Got held up at the Musain?"

"You could say that," Enjolras said shortly. He stood slightly, his brows drawn together. He opened all the drawers of his desk and rifled through a few stacks of papers. Knelt down surveyed under the desk and his bed. Dug around in his school bag.

"Looking for something?" Combeferre asked.

"My European history textbook…" Enjolras said, still searching.

"Here." Enjolras whipped around. Combeferre was holding up the heavy textbook the best he could on his palm. His eyebrows were raise slightly in amusement. Seeing Enjolras confused was certainly a rarity.

Enjolras frowned. "When did you get that?" It was common to knowledge to all of his friends that borrowing any of Enjolras's books without express permission was bound to make him aggravated.

"I told you I'd need it today," Combeferre said. "I asked you last night, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Of course." Enjolras stepped forward and took the textbook.

"You feeling all right, Enjolras?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" Enjolras snapped. He paused. "Excuse me."

Combeferre strugged. "You seem like you've been acting differently lately, is all. Maybe Joly can take a look at you."

"I'm fine," Enjolras insisted. "Er…" He looked down at the textbook he had just taken from Combeferre and handed it back. "I just need some sleep. Here, you can use this. Just put it in my backpack when you're done. Good night."

* * *

**A/N: Please review!**

**Translations - **

_**comment allez-vous?**_** / how are you?**

**_et vous?_ / and you?  
**

**_bonsoir_ / good night  
**


	14. Chapter 14

Éponine knocked on her brothers' door before opening it. They looked about ready for bed, as she had expected.

"Gavroche? Can you come out here for a moment? I want to ask you something."

The oldest brother exchanger glances with the other boys. They were all dubious, as evidenced when no one said anything. "You're not in trouble," Éponine said as kindly as she could. "It'll just take a minute."

Mutely, Gavroche slid out of his bed and padded over to the hall. Éponine closed the door and smiled. It seemed like it had been such a long time since she'd smiled at any of her siblings; she felt like she was grossly overcompensating.

"Thank you. Now I just want to know: the club that Courfeyrac takes you to, what is its name?"

Gavroche frowned. "Um, um...I sorta don't know the whole thing. It's really long."

"Is it the Friends of the ABC?" Éponine prompted.

Gavroche's eyes lit up. "I think that's it."

"And who's the leader?"

This question he knew. "Enjolras!" he said at once. "He's really cool. He treats me just like his older friends!" There was a touch of pride in his voice.

So Gavroche knew Enjolras, and what's more, he appeared to be on better terms with him than Éponine was. But that was enough for one night. She didn't want Gavroche to think like he was being used for her own selfish reason of getting to know Enjolras.

"Okay, merci. That's all."

Gavroche looked her cautiously, like she was going to retract her statement, but decided she wouldn't. In one fluid movement, he turned and disappeared into his room again before Éponine changed her mind.

Éponine retreated into the kitchen and sat the table, a piece of paper and pencil in front of her. She swiftly wrote down her possible contacts at the moment. Gavroche was friends with both Enjolras and Courfeyrac. She was friends with Courfeyrac and Musichetta. Both of them were friends with Enjolras. So many mutual relationships, yet a direct one was nearly nonexistent. Éponine searched through her bag and pulled out that scrap that had Enjolras's number on it. She hadn't looked at since Musichetta had given it to her. Slowly, Éponine entered the number into her phone. One press of a button and she would be connected to him.

Éponine looked at the screen and then shook her head quickly, deleting the number. "He's probably studying right now," she said, ignoring the fact that it was very late at night. "I'll see him next week."

_I'm bad at this "making friends" thing._

* * *

In a crowded hallway outside one of the classrooms of Normale, two students were talking as others rushed and pushed their way to their next classes.

"He's been off, if you ask me," Combeferre. "I mean, when was the last time Enjolras forgot something? And not just that, he's just been acting so...strange lately, don't you think?"

"It's probably the stress getting to him," Courfeyrac said. "His schedule this year is insane. Taking all those tough classes, running Les Amis, and he never takes a break. Those hour and a half coffee stints don't cut it, in my opinion. He needs a good vacation, somewhere south."

Combeferre shook his head. "I don't think that's it. It's like he's—"

"Why are you two standing there looking all secretive?" Enjolras interrupted, coming up behind them with a frown on his face. "Are you gossiping about people again?"

Combeferre laughed nervously. "'Course not, Alex," Combeferre said, accidentally using Enjolras's given name. Enjolras's eyes flickered, registering the slip, but he decided to let it slide.

"Well, come on, you'll be late if you keep on whispering here in the corridor."

At their seats, Enjolras turned around to ask Courfeyrac, "Are you still bringing Gavroche to the meetings?"

"Yeah, if you want," Courfeyrac said. "Why?"

"I want to talk to him about something."

"What?"

Enjolras was saved from answering by the professor calling for attention. Courfeyrac pressed his lips together, disappointed. His head was suddenly filled with theories. He stared at the back of Enjolras's head. Gavroche…what would Enjolras have to talk to him about?

* * *

"Gavroche!" Enjolras called over to the young boy after the others were departing from the meeting. "Do you have a moment?"

"Well, long as it really is just a moment," Gavroche said in his usually cheeky manner. "My sister's going to be here any minute."

"Sister?" Enjolras asked, legitimately taken aback for a moment. He hadn't expected Gavroche to beat him to the subject matter, a theory he had been working on for some time now. _She's going to be here?_ "Don't you normally go home with Courfeyrac?"

"Yeah, well. He's doing something later on. Hey, speaking of sisters, she was asking about you a few days ago."

"She was?" Enjolras said quickly. "What did she want to know?"

"She was asking about who the leader of Les Amis is. So I told her."

"And this sister," Enjolras said, "she's coming here?"

Gavroche paused. "Uh, wait…oh!" He laughed. "I meant to say—" Gavroche frowned and looked around Enjolras into the hallway. "Hey, she's here! 'Zelma!"

'_Zelma?_

"Gavroche—"

But the boy had already flown around Enjolras and into the hall. Enjolras spun around and hesitantly followed the young boy. "Hold on, Gavroche, I don't think—" He stopped suddenly. "Hello."

Gavroche grinned. "Enjolras, this is my sister, Azelma."

Azelma nodded. "Nice to meet you."

Enjolras was having trouble speaking. A few emotions were streaming through him, relief and confusion the two most prominent. "Ah, yes. Nice to meet you." Azelma looked somewhat like Éponine. Darker hair and lighter eyes. A bit of a tousled appearance to her. Enjolras blinked several times. "Gavroche?"

"Yeah?"

"What is your other sister's name?"

"Éponine."

Enjolras opened his mouth and then closed it. "Right. Thanks. Bonne nuit. I'll see you next week." Without another word, he retreated into the room and closed the door.

Azelma let out a little laugh as soon as he was gone. "Is he always that weird?"

"No," Gavroche said defensively. "I think he's got something on his mind."

The two had walked all the way back to their apartment when Gavroche spoke up. "Wait," he said, as Azelma rummaged around in her bag for the key.

"What is it?"

Gavroche bit his lip and looked fervently around the darkened corridor, even though there was no one there to eavesdrop. "I think…I think there might be something going on between Enjolras and…" He trailed off before finishing his thought.

"Who?" Azelma asked.

"Well—" Gavroche shifted awkwardly and jerked his head toward the door.

Azelma's eyes widened in shock. "Éponine?" she whispered. Gavroche nodded. Azelma made a face. "What, you think they're crushing on each other?"

"Not like that!" Gavroche yelped, looking horrified at the thought. "But a few days ago, she was talking to me about him. And then you saw Enjolras just now, how he was all jumpy when I mentioned that I had a sister. I think that he was expecting Éponine to be coming and not you. That's why he was acting funny."

Azelma let out a little laugh. "All right, Gavroche, whatever you say. You know him better than I do." She returned back to her bag, but Gavroche stopped her again.

"Hey, 'Zelma?"

"Yeah?"

Gavroche frowned at the ground, not looking at her. "Don't—don't mention—that I told you this. Y'know. Inside." No other words had to be voiced for Azelma to understand what Gavroche was asking for. "Thought maybe it'll embarrass her. I…I don't want her thinking that I'm out to get her. She probably already thinks that I don't like her."

Azelma patted her brother on the shoulder, a nonverbal agreement. "She doesn't think that, Gavroche. I know that for a fact. Don't worry about it." Azelma remembered the argument she and Éponine had had, when Éponine had been so frantic to find him. "But I don't think mind if you talked to her about other things."

"Other things, what'd you mean?"

"Things that you talk about with the other boys, with me."

"…That's too weird," Gavroche said. "She's not you, or Laurier, or Théo."

"Well, you gotta start somewhere, don't you?" Azelma pointed out. "It doesn't have to be a real in-depth conversation, or even be every day that you talk to her. Even just a few words would probably make her happy."

"What, that worked for you?" Gavroche wondered.

"Haven't tried it," Azelma said bluntly.

"Then how am I sure it's gonna work?" Gavroche demanded.

"_That's why you have to try it,"_ Azelma explained. "And I bet that the others will follow your lead if you start it. They're like ducklings."

"And you?" Gavroche asked. "What are you doing?"

"You forget about me," Azelma said. "I'll take care of my own problems, you take of yours." She turned the key in the lock and opened the door.

* * *

Musichetta was in her dorm at school, sitting on her bed. Loud orchestra music was playing from the other side of the room. Running a hand through her hair, she got up for a glass of water, grabbing her phone as she went. The screen displayed one missed call from Éponine. Musichetta raised her eyebrows and made to call back, but not before receiving another incoming call.

"Hello?"

"Okay, okay, you were right," came Éponine's voice.

"What?"

"Enjolras? The guy you've been bothering me about for the last month practically?"

"And the bothering worked?" Musichetta said excitedly.

"Afraid so," Éponine replied. "Anyway, I'm gonna need some more help, and I don't think we'll have time to discuss it at work."

"What with?"

"What do I talk to him about tomorrow? I'm going to see him at the Musain, most likely. I—I talked to him last week and it was a nightmare. I don't want to have to go through that again."

"Find out what he likes," Musichetta said, shouldering phone to knot her hair up. "Hobbies, interests."

"Isn't that too…girlfriend-boyfriend type of stuff? It'd feel a little like a date if I asked that sort of stuff," Éponine argued.

"Well…why don't you talk about something that you know he already likes?" Musichetta suggested. There was a silence on the other end while Éponine considered this.

"Law?" Éponine finally said. "I don't know the first thing about that."

"His club," Musichetta said. "You can probably talk to him for a while about that. You don't even really need to talk much, just listen, and that'll work. Joly tells me he's all about Les Amis."

"Yeah…yeah, I think that'll be okay," Éponine said.

"No think," Musichetta said sternly. "Will. It will be okay. Good?"

"Yeah, thanks, Musichetta."

"No problem. And if all else fails, just talk about me."

A laugh. "Okay, sure."

"Go get 'im, 'Ponine."


End file.
